A  DMM  OFAMONE 


BY  CHARLES  F.  EMBREE 


A  Dream  of  a  Throne 


,  O  Holy  Mother,  I  cannot.'  ' 


A  Dream  of  a  Throne 

The  Story  of  a  Mexican  Revolt 

BY 

CHARLES   FLEMING   EMBREE 


Boston 

Little,  Brown,  and  Company 
1904 


1900, 
BY  LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY 


All  right*  reserved 


ONIVIK8TTY    PRESS     •    JOHN    WILtON 
AND    ION    •    CAMBRIDGE,    U.S.A. 


£s-3f 


TO   MY  WIFE 


M578458 


CONTENTS 


PART   FIRST 

PAGE 

THE  MONASTERY i 


PART   SECOND 
TIZAPAN •     -       76 

PART   THIRD 
THE  ISLAND  .     .     ........     283 


A  Dream  of  a  Throne 


PART    FIRST 

THE    MONASTERY 

CHAPTER   I 

AT  nightfall  of  a  day  in  May,  1833,  there  was 
lamentation  in  a  fisher's  hut  on  the  banks  of 
the  Mexican  lake,  Chapala.  The  shadows  of  St. 
Michael's  hill,  which  rises  high  and  rocky  out  of 
the  town's  centre,  had  long  since  fallen  across  the 
Chapala  plaza.  The  sun  had  set  in  red  and  gold, 
and  the  waves,  as  the  darkness  came  on,  were  ris 
ing  slowly.  The  hut  was  of  adobe  with  steep, 
thatched  roof.  Its  rooms  were  two  and  its  floors 
earthen.  There  were  many  other  huts  like  this  in  a 
long  line  to  the  east,  and  between  them  and  the 
water  stretched  smooth  brown  sand  where  white 
nets,  for  two  hundred  yards,  were  extended  on  poles 
to  dry.  The  nets  should  be  taken  down  at  this 
hour  or  earlier,  and  rolled  into  a  ball,  and  the  tiny 
black  boat  that  should  carry  them  into  the  lake  a 
little  later  on  rode  restless  and  empty  at  the  shore. 
The  larger  canoa,  too,  its  one  sail  furled,  tossed 
yonder  on  the  waves,  unused  for  days,  —  and  the  nets 
remained  extended  with  the  wind  fluttering  them. 


i  A   DREAM   OF  A    THRONE 

A  boy  of  fourteen  years  came  out  of  the  hut  with 
a  little  bundle  of  rockets  in  his  hand,  and  sat  down 
near  a  tree.  He  was  much  whiter  of  face  than  the 
majority  of  the  inhabitants  of  this  fishing  village. 
His  features  were  clearer  cut  and  more  intelligent. 
His  eyes  were  deep  and,  at  present,  sad,  for  there 
were  tears  in  them.  The  lake  breeze  dried  the 
tears.  He  untied  the  rockets  in  absorption, — the 
absorption  of  a  man  who  has  seen  or  dreamed  much, 
and  with  none  of  the  air  of  a  child.  He  was  dressed 
in  loose  white,  the  common  clothing  of  this  simple 
people  of  the  high  tropics.  He  wore  sandals  on  his 
feet. 

He  lit  the  rockets  one  by  one  with  wax  matches, 
and  they  shot  into  the  air  hissing,  and  burst  with 
sudden  reports  on  the  night's  stillness.  It  some 
how  seemed  a  very  solemn  thing.  There  was  no 
play  in  this.  The  last  of  them  left  him  in  grief,  as 
plainly  written  on  his  face  as  though  he  had  added 
twenty  years  to  his  few.  The  crack,  crack  of  the 
explosives  in  the  air  had  aroused  no  one  along  the 
shore.  The  boats  still  rode  uneasily  and  empty, 
and  the  nets  fluttered  untouched,  like  ghosts.  In 
the  hut,  however,  there  was  heard  the  loud  wailing 
of  a  man,  — a  hysterical  wailing  rather  than  a  grief- 
stricken  one,  such  that  a  philosophic  listener  would 
not  have  pitied  long,  for  surely  the  mourner  would 
soon  recover  and  be  as  boisterous  in  another  direc 
tion.  A  little  girl  of  four  years,  in  cotton  dress 
oddly  long,  crept  out,  awe-struck,  went  to  the  boy 
where  he  still  sat,  and  silently  hugged  him.  Then 
she  whispered : 

"What  is  he  crying  about,  Vicente?  What  is 
the  matter  with  her?  Is  she —  is  she  dead,  brother 
Vicente? " 


A   DREAM   OF  A    THRONE  3 

"Clarita,"  he  said,  holding  to  her,  "she  is  dying, 
and  the  rockets  have  gone  before  her,  and  we  shall 
have  no  mother  —  nobody,  nobody." 

Whereat  the  little  girl  sobbed  and  crept  back 
into  the  hut,  among  banana  and  castor  trees  that 
stood  about  it.  The  boy  did  not  move.  When  the 
wailing  of  the  man  permitted,  Vicente  could  hear 
the  low  voice  of  a  priest  within ;  the  same  who  had 
sent  him  out  with  the  rockets  to  fire,  according  to 
custom,  as  the  soul  departed. 

It  was  at  length  quite  dark,  save  for  the  stars, 
brilliant  enough.  Only  a  little  candle-light  fell 
three  feet  outside  the  door.  A  gendarme  came 
round  the  corner  not  far  away,  where  the  two  white 
church  towers  stood  high,  past  some  lime-kilns, 
and  along  the  row  of  fishers'  huts.  He  arrived  at 
the  candle-lit  doorway  and  stood  in  the  light  with 
his  hat  off. 

"  Is  she  dead,  Francisco?  "  he  asked. 

"Oh,  my  God!  Dios!  Dios!"  wailed  the  man 
within.  "She  is  gone  —  the  life  of  my  life!" 

The  priest  was  quiet  enough  and  the  girl  again 
awe-struck.  The  gendarme  handed  a  paper  to  the 
priest,  who  read  it. 

"This  is  an  order,"  said  the  latter,  "that  she  is  to 
be  buried  at  once.  Why,  there  is  no  contagion  here. " 

The  gendarme  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"People  are  afraid  of  small-pox,"  he  said. 

The  dead  woman  lay  on  matting  and  blankets  on 
the  dirt  floor,  with  candles  at  her  head  and  feet,  her 
face  covered.  The  little  girl  came  silently  to  her 
and  sat  down  at  her  head. 

"  What ! "  shrieked  Francisco,  a  fisherman  not 
yet  forty.  "To-night!  Animals!  Beasts!  Will 
you  tear  my  heart  from  my  body?" 


4  A   DREAM   OF  A    THRONE 

"They  are  afraid,  sefior,  all  the  town,  for  there 
has  been  the  disease  this  year  in  Jocotepec,  and 
some  women  who  have  looked  at  Dona  Julia  have 
said  it  was  like  it." 

"This  is  blasphemy!  Holy  Mary  protect  us!  In 
the  night  —  and  to  take  her  away  now!  Oh,  Dios! 
Dios !  "  And  he  wailed  afresh  and  more  hysteri 
cally. 

The  priest  knew  that  there  was  no  small-pox  here, 
but  —  it  was  as  well  now  as  another  time.  Fran 
cisco's  grief  was  not  very  deep.  The  order  was 
given,  let  it  be  executed.  The  town  had  indeed, 
foolishly,  been  afraid  of  the  hut.  It  seemed  there 
would  be  difficulty  in  securing  men  to  carry  the 
coffin.  The  gendarme  went  out.  He  would  find 
them,  said  he.  He  went  no  further  than  two  huts 
away,  and  after  parley  returned  with  two  fishermen. 
They  passed  Vicente  sitting,  without  motion,  on  the 
sand,  and  entered  the  hut.  The  two  were  named, 
respectively,  Anastasio  and  Fortino.  The  one  was 
long  and  lean,  and  the  other  massive.  They,  as 
Francisco,  wore  the  white  clothing  and  the  sandals. 
There  were,  too,  colored  sashes  round  their  waists. 

There  was  little  else  said.  Anastasio  brought  a 
rude  wooden  coffin  that  seemed  to  have  been  await 
ing  the  mcment  under  the  banana-trees.  Fortino 
remained  outside,  while  his  companion  carried  it 
in.  Presently  the  latter  and  the  gendarme  came 
out  again,  bearing  it  awkwardly.  Coffins  were 
sometimes  carried  to  the  grave  on  a  table,  the  table 
being  hoisted  to  the  single  bearer's  back.  They 
had  no  table  here,  and  no  one  would  lend,  for  fear 
of  the  disease.  So  the  great  Fortino,  strong  as  a 
bull,  lifted  it  lightly  to  his  shoulder,  and  went 
tramping  away.  Anastasio,  the  gendarme,  and  the 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  5 

priest  followed  in  silence.  Francisco  threw  him 
self  down  in  the  hut  and  beat  his  skull  with  fierce 
ness.  The  burial  party  was  nigh  swallowed  up  in 
gloom,  yonder  a  little  way  across  the  beach,  when 
the  girl  ran  out  laboriously  through  the  sand,  fasci 
nated.  She  was  at  their  heels,  reaching  up  her 
little  hands  to  the  coffin,  and  stumbling.  She  did 
not  sob  or  cry,  but  they  heard  her  quick  breath  and 
turned  in  surprise,  whereat  she  clung  to  Fortino, 
looking  up  at  the  coffin  piteously.  Only  the  gen 
darme  was  moved  and  loosed  her  grip. 

At  that  moment,  Vicente,  who  had  but  just  per 
ceived  the  child,  came  running,  seized  her  in  his 
arms,  and  bore  her  back.  She  struggled,  and  at 
length  sobbed  bitterly;  but  he  held  her,  and  sat 
down  with  her  where  he  had  been  before.  She 
clung  to  him  then  with  her  head  buried  on  his 
shoulder,  while  he  watched  the  retreating  shadows 
of  the  burial  party.  They  were  barely  seen  yonder 
where  the  white  nets  ended.  They  were  turning 
into  a  lane  now,  between  two  huts.  They  were 
gone.  Dry-eyed,  he  stared  at  the  scarcely-seen 
corner  for  many  minutes.  He  did  not  know  it;  but 
he  did  not  feel  like  a  boy,  nor  was  his  face  a  boyish 
face. 

He  knew  she  had  been  good  to  them  both,  and 
that  to  have  a  mother  was,  somehow,  to  have  that 
which  is  most  necessary.  When  they  had  eaten 
the  frijoles  and  the  tortillas  there  in  the  hut  with 
her,  it  had  always  been  she  who  had  prepared  them. 
She  had  done  it  as  though  she  loved  to  do  it.  She 
had  not  been  like  that  woman  four  huts  away,  who 
beat  her  children.  Yes,  it  was  plain  she  had  loved 
them.  When  they  had  played  together,  he  and 
Clarita,  here  on  the  sand  so  many,  many  evenings 


6  A   DREAM   OF  A    THRONE 

after  the  moon  was  up,  while  the  nets  were  drawing 
fish,  and  the  waves  lapped  the  shore  gently,  she 
had  always  been  watching  over  them.  She  had 
been  the  true,  the  real  part  of  all  living,  though  he 
had  not  known  it  till  now.  Francisco  had  been 
only  another  person  who  came  and  went  and  fished 
and  was  boisterous.  When  they  had  awakened  in 
the  morning,  and  Clarita  had  hugged  him,  it  was 
the  mother  they  saw  first.  When  they  lay  down  on 
the  matting  to  sleep  at  night,  she  had  watched 
them  and  made  them  warm.  He  began  to  realize 
in  some  larger  way  that  she  had  been  above  the  life 
that  she  lived;  at  least,  she  had  been  more  faithful 
than  her  race.  So  he  held  the  child  tightly,  there 
in  the  dark,  and  did  not  want  to  move,  and  a  dor 
mant  loneliness  that  had  long  belonged  to  him  took 
shape. 

An  hour  passed,  and  she  was  asleep  in  his  arms, 
contented.  Francisco  had  become  silent  By 
faint  distant  whistles  and  the  sound  of  an  oar  com 
ing  across  the  water,  Vicente  knew  there  was  fish 
ing  farther  away  at  other  parts  of  the  shore.  But 
Francisco's  nets,  which  Fortino  and  Anastasio  had 
been  wont  to  draw  with  him,  hung  idly  as  before, 
and  there  was  no  fishing  here.  He  grew  stiff,  but 
not  sleepy.  After  a  long  time  he  was  surprised 
that  the  priest  returned  and  entered  the  hut.  A 
grunt  from  within  told  of  the  awaking  of  Francisco. 
The  latter's  grief  had  not  kept  him  from  sleep. 

"  Has  he  come?  "  said  the  priest. 

"No,"  said  Francisco. 

The  boy  heard  no  more,  and  there  seemed  to  be 
no  more  said.  His  attention  was  suddenly  attracted 
by  the  faint  plashing  of  oars  a  little  way  out  on  the 
waves.  He  strained  his  eyes,  and  at  length  saw  a 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  ^ 

shadow,  which  became,  indistinctly,  a  boat.  It  was 
strange,  thought  he,  that  a  boat  —  and  a  little  boat 
—  should  be  coming  here  in  the  night,  for  to-night 
there  was  no  fishing.  The  plash  came  nearer,  and 
the  boat  touched  the  bank.  He  could  just  see  that 
a  form  stepped  out  of  it.  There  seemed  to  be  no 
anchoring  or  tying  of  the  vessel,  and  there  was  no 
more  noise. 

The  figure  came  over  the  sand.  He  would  have 
thought  it  a  woman  had  it  not  been  so  tall.  It 
moved  slowly,  and  passed  within  a  few  yards  of  him 
and  the  sleeping  child  without  seeing  them.  Vicente 
noted  then  what  he  had  not  seen  before,  that  a 
candle  had  been  placed  in  the  little  yard  of  his  own 
home,  under  the  banana-trees.  The  figure  moved 
to  this  candle  and  stood  at  the  door,  and  he  saw  it 
more  plainly.  It  was  a  man,  but  robed.  He  would 
have  been  very  tall  had  he  not  been  bent.  The 
light  barely  showed  to  the  staring  boy  eyes  of  ter 
rible  lustre,  and  a  face  white.  This  last  was  the 
more  wonderful  to  Vicente.  He  had  never  seen  a 
really  white  face  before.  Even  the  priest  of 
Chapala  was  almost  as  dark  as  his  neighbors.  The 
new-comer  went  in  as  noiselessly  and  mysteriously 
as  he  had  come,  and  the  scarce-seen  shadow  of  his 
boat  rose  and  fell  beside  that  other  little  fishing 
craft. 

For  another  hour  there  were  the  murmurings  of 
conversation  within,  sometimes  only  whispers. 
Once  or  twice  Francisco's  voice  broke  out  in  pas 
sion,  and  once  in  a  broad  jest.  Vicente  thought  of 
creeping  closer  and  listening.  But  his  sorrow  and 
his  loneliness,  the  great  night  and  the  child,  put 
the  idea  out  of  his  head;  he  only  sat  still.  In  spite 
of  the  continuous  sound  of  voices,  sometimes  eager, 


8  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

sometimes  arguing,  often  urging,  and  at  last  even 
threatening,  the  boy  nearly  forgot  the  new-comer. 
He  grew  tired,  and  would  have  wakened  his  sister 
and  gone  in.  But  there  was  stirring,  then,  and  the 
priest  and  the  boatman  came  out.  The  latter  went 
to  the  beach  slowly,  as  he  had  come,  but  the  boat 
did  not  depart.  The  priest  came  to  Vicente. 

"He  who  has  just  come,"  said  he  to  the  boy 
kindly,  "  is  a  man  greater  than  are  we.  For  many 
years  he  has  been  a  friend  of  mine,  of  Francisco, 
and  of  Julia.  You  are  left  alone  now,  Vicente. 
He  has  come  to  take  you  with  him,  not  so  far  away 
but  that  you  can  return,  and  he  will  show  you  new 
things." 

The  boy  stood  up,  wakening  the  girl,  who  still 
clung  to  him.  His  eyes  were  very  wide  open  and 
black,  and  he  stared  a  moment  in  silence  and 
wonder  at  the  priest. 

"Why,"  he  said  simply  and  resolutely,  "I  do  not 
want  to  see  new  things." 

"Listen,  boy.  As  yet  you  know  nothing,  even 
of  yourself.  You  have  lived  here  in  this  hut  since 
your  earliest  memory.  Will  you  not  believe  that 
there  is  a  wide  world  beyond  this,  with  strange 
deeds  and  strange  gains  in  it  ?  You  will  go  to-night 
because  I,  your  priest,  tell  you  to.  You  will  learn 
many  things  you  did  not  know.  And  you  will  learn 
more  of  yourself  —  of  yourself,  do  you  understand? 
And  to-morrow  you  may  return  —  if  you  wish." 

"Oh!  what  is  the  hitch  now?"  cried  Francisco, 
bursting,  in  irritation,  out  of  the  hut.  "Bring  him 
in!" 

Vicente  was  led  in,  bewildered.  He  put  the  girl 
down,  and  she  sat  beside  him  on  the  floor. 

"What  are  you  hanging   back  for?"    said   Fran- 


A  DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  9 

cisco.  "Haven't  I  raised  you  and  taken  care  of 
you?  And  when  I  tell  you  it 's  all  right,  it  is,  isn't 
it?  Origins!"  And  he  struck  his  palm  with  his 
fist.  "It's  to  be  explored.  Can't  you  show  any 
interest  in  the  origin  ? " 

"The  origin  of  what?  "  asked  the  boy.  "I  don't 
know  what  you  mean. " 

"Then  go  with  him  and  learn.     It  '11  pay." 

"And  leave  Clarita?" 

"  You  may  return  to-morrow  night  —  if  you  wish," 
said  the  priest. 

Vicente  was  unconvinced.  The  priest  led  him, 
then,  to  the  water's  edge. 

"We  shall  speak  to  the  other,"  he  said. 

They  found  the  boat,  and,  a  little  way  from  it, 
the  tall  man  standing  on  the  shore.  The  latter 
approached  and  laid  a  gentle  hand  on  Vicente's 
shoulder.  Then  he  stooped  and  talked  to  him. 
His  voice  was  low  and  sibilant,  but  kind.  It 
seemed  to  hold  a  magic  in  it  for  the  boy,  who  knew 
not  why,  but  half  wanted  to  follow  him. 

"Come  with  me,  my  son,"  said  the  speaker.  "It 
is  necessary.  I  will  teach  you,  to-night,  many 
things  you  have  wanted  to  know.  I  am  your 
mother's,  your  father's,  the  priest's  friend.  They 
and  I  say  it  is  best." 

In  spite  of  the  magic  a  sudden  panic  seized 
Vicente.  He  broke  away  and  ran  to  the  hut.  He 
caught  Clarita  in  his  arms  and  cried : 

"  Oh !  they  are  going  to  take  me  away  from  you ! 
I  can't  leave  Clarita!" 

Passion  swept  over  Francisco's  face.  He  waited 
no  more,  but  tore  the  girl  away  from  him,  seized 
him  in  a  grip  of  iron,  and  carried  him  back  to  the 
shore.  Clarita,  terrified,  seeing  her  best-beloved 


io  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

dragged  away,  cried  aloud  in  that  frightful  dread 
and  wretchedness  known  only  to  a  child.  At  the 
shore  Vicente  heard  her  calling  his  name  and  weep 
ing.  She  was  following  him,  in  the  second  bereave 
ment  of  the  night,  toward  the  water.  Francisco 
ran  back  and  stopped  her,  and  they  two  were  again 
in  the  hut.  The  priest  held  the  boy  by  the 
shoulder.  Another  shadow  was  seen  then,  running 
out  from  the  banana-trees  across  the  beach  to  the 
shore,  — a  small  shadow.  It  came  boldly  up  to  the 
boat's  side,  and  a  girl's  voice  called  out: 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  him?  " 

It  was  a  very  young  voice.  This  girl  could  not 
have  been  more  than  ten  years  of  age.  Her  face 
could  not  be  plainly  seen,  but  she  was  tall  for  her 
age.  Her  dress  was  shorter  than  Clarita's,  and  her 
head  and  feet  were  bare. 

"Who  is  this?"  said  the  boatman  kindly,  at  the 
same  time  reassuring  Vicente  by  the  pressure  of  his 
hand. 

"This  is  Pepa,"  said  the  trembling  Vicente. 
"Her  mother  keeps  the  restaurant." 

"I  am  Vicente's  sweetheart,"  spoke  up  Pepa 
without  hesitation,  and  frankly.  "Vicente  is  going 
to  marry  me  when  he  grows  up.  Do  you  think  I 
would  stay  at  home  when  his  mother  died?  No.  I 
am  not  afraid  of  the  small-pox;  and  I  ran  away  and 
came.  I  have  been  hid  under  the  banana-trees 
since  dark.  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  him  ?  " 

The  tall  stranger  slowly  took  a  wax  match  from  a 
box,  lighted  it,  and  held  it  to  her  face.  It  lit  a 
keen  interest  in  his  own  eyes.  He  smiled.  There 
was  one  gray  lock  falling  down  on  his  white  check, 
wherein  were  wrinkles. 

"Ah,    she    is    beautiful.      You    will    marry    him 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  n 

when  he  grows  up  ? "  he  said,  as  the  match  went  out. 
"  Good.  And  you  want  him  now  to  go  with  me  and 
see  some  of  the  world  you  will  conquer  together." 

"Oh!  is  that  what  you  are  taking  him  for? "  said 
she,  as  though  she  understood  it.  She  meditated, 
while  Vicente  wavered  between  the  fascination 
which  the  scene  and  the  man  were  exercising  on 
him  and  his  fears.  She  seemed  altogether  too  old 
for  her  age. 

"She  is  a  strange  child,"  muttered  the  priest. 

"Yes,  Vicente,  you  ought  to  go,"  said  she. 

The  boy  was  lifted  bodily  into  the  boat.  He 
struggled  much,  but  it  was  of  no  avail.  Within, 
he  sank  down,  trembling  more.  The  robed  form  of 
the  stranger  entered  after  him  and  cut  off  escape. 
He  was  startled  at  the  rising  of  a  rower  at  the 
boat's  farther  end.  He  had  thought  there  were 
only  the  two  of  them  in  the  vessel.  The  rower 
said  nothing,  but  took  up  his  oars,  and  the  boat  was 
pushed  off.  Even  yet  Vicente  heard  the  sobs  of 
Clarita  in  the  hut  as  she  cried  his  name,  —  the  hut 
that  had  been  his  home,  and  from  which  the  woman 
who  had  loved  him  had  been  carried  away  on  a 
fisherman's  shoulders. 

"  Good-by  !  good -by  !"  cried  Pepa  from  the 
shore.  "  And  you  will  marry  me  when  you  come 
back ! " 

It  was  all  a  dream  to  him.  He  was  bewildered, 
and  could  not  think.  Crouched  on  the  boat's  bot 
tom  as  it  glided  away  into  the  darkness,  the  last  he 
heard  from  the  shore  was  little  Clarita' s  voice. 
She  was  weeping  and  calling  his  name. 


CHAPTER   II 

THEY  were  out  of  sight  of  the  shore  almost  at  once, 
save  for  the  faint  candle-light  at  the  hut.  That 
too  disappeared  when  they  sank  into  a  deep  trough 
of  the  waves,  and  when  they  arose  again  Vicente 
could  see  it  no  more.  He  was  on  the  floor  of  the 
boat  with  the  oarsman  behind  him  and  the  old  man 
in  the  stern  before  him,  and  there  was  no  sound  but 
that  of  the  oars  and  the  waves.  He  gained  assurance 
sufficient  to  look  about.  The  oarsman  was  not  to  be 
distinctly  descried.  He  wore  a  sombrero  that  made  a 
pointed  shadow  against  the  sky  as  he  swayed  back 
and  forth.  His  silence  alone  was  remarkable,  and  as 
he  pulled  he  sometimes  sighed  deeply.  There  was  a 
slim  little  mast  with  a  sail  furled  on  it,  unused  because 
they  were  going  against  the  wind.  They  appeared  to 
him  to  be  aiming  straight  out  across  the  lake,  a  thing 
he  had  heard  called  madness  in  such  a  frail  bark  as 
this  and  in  the  night.  For  the  worst  storms  come  at 
night  and  the  nearest  shore  straight  across  is  twenty 
miles  away.  He  was  not  a  child  to  be  long  cowed. 
He  gained  self-command.  That  black  figure  in  the 
boat's  stern  must  know  its  course.  A  kind  of  pride 
or  haughtiness  came  to  the  child  and  he  sat  still, 
scorning  to  be  afraid. 

It  seemed  hours  during  which  nothing  happened, 
and  there  was  no  word  spoken.  The  ceaseless  rise 
and  fall  of  the  waves,  their  lapping  on  the  boat's  sides, 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  13 

and  the  stroke  and  the  sigh  of  the  oarsman,  these 
were  all.  He  longed  to  see  the  face  whose  eyes  had 
fascinated  him.  The  form  was  always  there  in  the 
same  position,  but  the  face  unseen.  He  believed  it 
must  be  midnight  or  later,  and  in  spite  of  the  strain 
he  was  growing  sleepy,  when  the  wind  changed.  He 
saw  the  old  man's  arm  make  a  slow  motion  in  the  air, 
and  the  oarsman  ceased  rowing,  hoisted  the  little  sail, 
and  crawled  to  the  stern,  sitting  down  beside  the  other. 
Dread  and  doubt  swept  over  the  boy  in  turn  as  he 
watched  them. 

The  boat  sped  on  now,  striking  the  waves  boldly, 
and  the  sail  was  full.  That  great  loneliness  came  over 
Vicente  again.  It  was  the  loneliness  of  the  lake  thus 
dark  and  unknown,  the  loneliness  of  the  night,  and 
the  loneliness  of  his  heart.  He  was  tired  and  he  lay 
on  the  boat's  bottom.  He  was  thinking  of  Clarita 
when  he  fell  asleep. 

He  was  awakened  by  the  striking  of  the  boat  upon 
a  rock  gently.  He  started  up  and  the  rower  was 
leaping  out  to  a  shore  dimly  seen.  The  sail  was 
down  and  the  boulders  of  a  high  and  rugged  ascent 
loomed  about.  Half  the  night  sky  was  shut  away  by 
a  mass  of  land  whose  rugged  edge  above  him  cut  a 
zigzag  line  along  the  stars.  He  had  never  been,  since 
he  could  remember,  five  miles  from  the  village  of 
Chapala.  Nor  were  any  coasts  opposite  the  village 
known  to  him.  Familiar  names  of  certain  Indian 
towns  on  the  lake's  border  were  in  his  mind,  but 
here  was  no  town.  Nor  did  he  know  how  many 
hours  the  journey  had  occupied.  He  had  come 
long  over  black  waves.  He  had  arrived  in  the  night 
at  an  unknown  and  seemingly  deserted  coast.  He 
knew  no  more. 

His  companion,  following  the   oarsman,  lifted  the 


i4  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

boy  out  to  the  rocks.  The  oarsman  was  again  com 
municated  with  by  signs.  He  was  apparently  deaf 
and  executed  his  orders  like  a  slave.  The  boat  was 
tied  in  a  little  cove,  the  chain  rattling  startlingly  on 
the  otherwise  complete  silence.  The  oarsman  went 
on  up  the  ascent,  picking  the  tortuous  path  among 
rocks.  Vicente  preceded  the  old  man  and  struggled 
up.  He  was  at  length  lifted  into  the  latter's  arms  and 
borne,  as  though  his  weight  were  nothing.  A  wild 
goat  and  kids  started  from  the  rocks  and  bleated, 
leaped  away,  and  were  gone  in  the  gloom.  The 
climbers  were  a  hundred  feet  above  the  water  when 
they  came  to  a  wall.  The  servant  scrambled  over  it 
and  took  the  boy.  The  wall  was  in  ruins  with  rough 
stones  fallen  at  its  base.  There  was  tangled  vegeta 
tion  here  and  cacti  lifted  their  myriad  flat  leaves 
against  the  sky,  for  the  summit  of  the  ascent  was 
reached.  The  oarsman  put  the  boy  down  and  be 
tween  the  two  men  Vicente  walked  on.  There  was 
no  further  sign  of  life,  and  he  imagined  he  could  see 
the  faint  gray  of  the  dawn.  Before  them  rose  huge 
irregular  piles,  formless.  A  little  nearer  and  the 
piles  were  ruins  too,  ruins  of  buildings  vaster  than 
any  he  had  ever  seen.  They  entered  in  between  two 
walls  that  broke  off  aimlessly  at  the  entrance.  All 
seemed  stone,  heavy,  irregular,  silent.  All  was  de 
serted.  They  climbed  over  heaps  of  rocks  fallen 
from  heights  that  loomed  broken  overhead.  They 
were  at  length  under  a  high-arched  roof  which,  with 
its  walls,  formed  a  black  tunnel  whose  end  he  could 
not  see.  At  its  beginning  the  arch  too  had  fallen, 
and  indistinctly  he  could  descry  another  arched  roof 
that  joined  it.  The  tunnel  was  double. 

Within  they  walked  over  soft  mold  and  the  place 
was  damp.    When  they  had  penetrated  some  distance 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  15 

into  this  passage  the  leader  paused  and  struck  a  light. 
There  were  sheer  walls  surrounding  them,  rising  to 
the  shadowy  arch.  A  door  in  the  masonry  here 
blocked  the  path.  This  the  servant  opened  and  led 
the  way,  holding  the  match,  down  stone  steps,  and 
the  boy  was  pushed  after  him.  They  arrived  thus 
at  a  chamber  where  the  servant  lit  a  candle.  He 
was  bade  by  a  sign  from  his  master  to  withdraw,  and 
he  did  so,  there  being  only  time  for  Vicente  to  see  as 
he  turned  to  the  door  that  his  hair  was  straggling  and 
long  and  his  face  disfigured  by  a  great  scar  stretch 
ing  from  the  corner  of  his  mouth  across  his  cheek. 

There  were  heavy  benches  and  a  seat  made  of  the 
fallen  stones.  The  floor  was  of  stones  also,  as  were 
the  walls  and  the  roof.  There  were  shelves  built  up 
irregularly  of  pieces  of  the  ruins,  and  a  bottle  of  wine 
and  some  bread  were  on  one  of  them.  A  couch 
covered  with  blankets  stood  opposite  the  one  door, 
and  stones  formed  a  table  whereon  were  books  and 
candles. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  the  old  man. 

The  boy  sat  and  looked  at  his  companion.  He  had 
not  seen  the  latter's  face  plainly  till  now.  It  was  a 
face  that  he  never  forgot.  It  seemed  half  smiling  and 
half  grim.  It  might  be  fascinating  or  terrible  —  its 
white  forehead,  its  wrinkled  cheeks,  the  strong  mouth 
defying  age  with  the  lines  about  it  that  might  mean 
grief,  or  power,  or  crime,  the  eyes  that  alone  showed 
a  hidden  fire  which  must  have  burned  in  vain  for 
years,  the  gray  hair  falling  round  it.  The  man  came 
nearer  and  laid  on  the  boy's  shoulder  a  hand  that  was 
long,  of  large  joints,  and  heavy.  His  voice  was  oddly 
gentle. 

"  You  have  never  heard  of  a  hermit,"  he  said. 

"  No,"  said  the  boy. 


1 6  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

"  Nor  do  you  know  why  men  leave  the  world  and 
bury  themselves  away  like  animals  in  the  depths  of 
the  earth." 

He  stood  long,  musing  over  the  child,  scrutinizing 
his  features.  He  sighed  then,  like  one  stricken,  and 
turned  away  and  sat  down  on  a  bench  by  the  table. 

"  I  will  tell  you  why,"  he  said  at  last. 

He  turned  fully  to  Vicente  again  and  never  ceased, 
till  he  ceased  speaking,  to  hold  him  with  his  eyes. 
He  knew  the  power  of  that  gaze.  He  knew  and  felt 
the  weight  of  his  purposes.  Under  circumstances 
the  most  simple  how  impressionable  is  a  child  !  Spell 
bound,  half  terrified,  how  could  this  one  escape  the 
singular  influence  of  his  unknown  companion?  Vi 
cente's  lips  were  drawn  and  his  eyes  were  wide. 
Clarita's  voice  had  died  from  his  ears.  Pepa  was 
no  more  in  his  thoughts.  Francisco,  even  she  they 
had  borne  away,  were  forgotten.  Only  the  unthought 
loneliness  was  there,  and  he  listened. 

"  You  live,"  continued  the  hermit,  seating  himself 
by  the  table,  his  voice  low  and  distinct,  "  in  the  most 
unfortunate  country  on  the  face  of  the  globe.  She 
was  conquered  in  blood,  she  was  ridden  in  selfishness 
and  brutality,  she  is  exploited  by  adventurers  and 
torn  by  revolutions.  She  is  no  country.  And  who 
owns  her?  Whose  is  the  land  and  the  right?  There 
was,  here  on  these  plains  and  in  these  mountains,  in 
the  times  gone  by,  a  proud  and  noble  race,  your 
race.  And  the  land  was  free  and  the  government  an 
empire.  Your  mother's  fathers  built  cities  under  this 
same  Mexican  sun,  and  reared  a  state  strong  and 
beautiful.  They  were  masters  of  the  soil  for  centur 
ies.  They  were  proud,  true,  silent.  They  were  bent 
on  a  civilization  on  whose  very  threshold  they  stood, 
when  one  fatal  year,  in  the  midst  of  their  security, 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  17 

came  the  sound  of  the  Spanish  gun.  You  have  heard 
tales  of  the  conquest.  You  do  not  know  its  ferocity, 
its  bloodiness.  Your  own  fathers  were  cut  down  like 
the  corn  in  the  field.  Your  fathers'  cities  were  swept 
away  in  ruin.  Your  fathers'  wives  and  daughters  were 
seized  and  held  for  the  basest  purposes,  and  cast 
away.  But  for  one  all-merciful  hand  every  individ 
ual  of  your  race  would  have  fallen  in  blood  or  pined 
in  slavery,  and  your  great-grandfathers,  your  mother, 
you  yourself,  would  never  have  existed.  That  one 
merciful  hand  was  the  hand  of  the  church.  It  could 
not  restore  to  you  your  ancient  lands ;  it  could  only 
save  you  from  butchery  or  slavery  and  keep  you 
alive,  holding  you  in  its  bosom,  warming  and  nourish 
ing  you,  till  you  should  have  learned  to  be  your  mas 
ters.  This  it  did.  For  many  years  you  were  slaves 
and  it  freed  you  and  taught  you  religion.  It  has 
been  your  race's  protector,  your  race's  only  hope." 

The  speaker's  face  was  lit  almost  with  the  light  that 
lights  the  face  of  the  fanatic.  He  leaned  farther  over 
the  rude  table,  stretched  out  a  long  finger  at  the  awed 
listener,  and  continued : 

"  Child,  to  save  a  lost  and  fallen  race  is  the  noblest 
calling  that  a  man  can  have.  If  that  race  be  your 
own,  and  its  blood  leap  in  you,  and  you  be  fighting 
the  battle  of  your  butchered  fathers  and  winning  that 
which  is  by  God's  right  yours,  the  task  is  infinitely 
great.  Do  you  know,  child,  whose  is  that  task?  " 

The  boy  could  not  have  escaped  from  his  com 
panion's  eye  had  he  wished.  He  did  not  wish.  He 
gazed  at  him  and  slowly  shook  his  head.  He  was 
moved  and  thinking,  and  a  flash  of  satisfaction  came 
into  the  hermit's  face. 

"  Boy,"  he  said  solemnly,  "  that  task  is  yours." 

There  was  silence  for  some  seconds. 


1 8  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

"  How —  how,"  said  the  youth,  hesitatingly,  "  can 
it  be  mine?" 

"  You  have  seen  the  poverty  of  your  own  people. 
You  have  lived  among  them  and  you  know  their  ig 
norance.  Your  priest  tells  me  he  has  begun  to  teach 
you  to  read.  The  great  light  of  written  words  will 
soon  shine  on  you.  Already,  young  as  you  are,  I 
know  you  have  begun  to  realize  the  difference  be 
tween  your  people  as  they  are  and  your  people  as 
they  ought  to  be.  Your  enemies  cry,  '  Give  them 
time !  They  will  rise !  '  My  son,  they  have  had 
three  hundred  years,  and  they  have  not  risen.  Why? 
Because  they  are  cheated  of  their  own,  and  their 
conquerors  alone  have  knowledge  and  civilization. 
They  need  one  strong  hand  held  out  to  help  them 
up.  They  shall  then  attain  that  freedom  and  that 
greatness  for  which  the  church  has  held  them  and 
has  waited." 

"Why,"  said  the  boy,  "the  country  is  free.  Hi 
dalgo  freed  it." 

A  low,  bitter  laugh  broke  from  the  other. 

"  Free  to  what?  To  a  hundred  successive  bon 
dages.  Child,  where  there  is  no  stability,  no  govern 
ment,  there  can  be  no  freedom.  Hidalgo,  like  his 
many  followers,  though  his  cry  was  liberty  and  his 
banner  the  Virgin,  was  an  adventurer.  How  soon 
after  his  death  did  Iturbide's  empire  prove  his  weak 
ness?  That  empire  should  have  lived.  There  should 
be  no  republic  here.  This  country's  factions  are  too 
wild.  She  is  too  unsettled.  Govern  herself  ?  Mad 
ness  !  She  can  no  more  govern  herself  than  a  wind 
can  govern  the  sea  it  has  lashed  to  fury.  She  needs 
one  powerful,  never-failing  hand.  Iturbidc  lacked 
the  strength.  He  fled,  returned,  and  died.  Your 
land  and  your  people  have,  since  then,  been  given 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  19 

over  to  a  mob  of  madmen.  Revolution  has  followed 
revolution.  Government  there  is  none.  Lies,  treach 
ery,  murder,  self-aggrandizement,  are  the  politics  and 
the  aim  of  these  successive  devastating  flames.  Your 
people  are  like  starved  sheep,  driven  bleating  here 
and  there,  fleeing  the  forest  fire  to  be  caught  in  the 
barren  rocks,  and  leaping  the  rocks  only  to  fall  into 
the  sea.  So-called  governments  hold  you  as  the 
despairing  player  holds  the  dice  and  cast  their  for 
tunes  with  you.  Each  new  blusterer  lets  you  fall  as 
you  will,  only  that  it  be  luck  for  him.  Allende, 
Guerrero,  Morelos  —  my  son,  what  were  they? 
Criminals  with  their  fingers  on  your  throat.  And 
most  blasphemous  —  " 

Here  he  leaned  farther  forward  and  there  was  a 
singular  smile  on  his  face  that  drew  the  lines  about 
his  mouth  into  unpleasing  prominence. 

"  The  church  itself,  the  vessel  of  God's  spirit,  your 
only  friend  and  protector,  is  exploited  with  you." 

There  was  a  long  silence  after  this,  and  the  speaker 
sat  watching  the  boy.  The  expression  of  the  old 
man's  face  sank  into  sadness.  He  raised  his  hand 
and  stroked  the  long  gray  locks. 

"  My  son,"  said  he  at  last,  "  you  are  coming  to  the 
rescue,  and  I  shall  tell  you  why.  You  were  not  born 
to  fish  or  to  plant  corn  on  the  shores  of  this  lake. 
You  were  born  to  learn  and  to  do.  Your  country 
and  your  people  have  waited  long  for  one  strong 
spirit.  For  the  ancient  empire  lives  yet,  trodden 
though  it  is,  in  the  depths  of  your  national  character. 
The  time  is  coming  when  every  bitter  wrong  you 
have  suffered  will  bear  its  fruit  at  last,  and  the  fire 
burst  out.  I  have  heard  its  warning.  These  last 
petty  brawlers  will  light  the  match,  for  you  and  your 
race  will  endure  no  more.  If  I  prove  to  you  the 


20  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

right  is  yours  and  the  time  has  come,  and  give  you 
the  means  and  show  you  the  way,  will  you  follow  and 
grow  to  be  your  people's  liberator?" 

The  boy,  wrought  to  a  high  pitch,  threw  his  head 
down  on  his  arms  to  the  table  and  cried  with  a  fervor 
that  sounded  strange  in  a  boy's  voice : 

"  I  would  —  Holy  Mary  help  me  !  I  would  do  it  if 
I  could !  " 

"  You  can  and  you  will.  The  woman  who  died 
to-night  was  not  your  mother." 

The  boy  started  up  as  though  he  had  been  struck. 
The  other's  face  calmed  him,  and  he  sat  down,  hold 
ing  his  breath. 

41  Will  you  believe  me?  Have  you  faith  that  I  am 
telling  you  the  truth?  " 

"  Yes,"  gasped  the  boy. 

"  Your  mother  died  fourteen  years  ago.  She  came 
to  the  monastery  one  night  in  Guadalajara  bringing 
you.  Ah,  I  remember  the  night."  He  stopped  and 
dreamed.  Of  all  the  many  emotions  that  the  face 
had  shown,  the  sorrow  on  it  then  seemed  the  deepest. 
"  I  remember  the  night.  She  was  nearly  dead  when 
she  came.  She  died  there.  We  took  charge  of  you. 
Your  eyes  —  ah,  yes  —  your  eyes  were  like  hers, 
when  the  monk  brought  the  candle  and  held  it  over 
you,  and  your  hair  was  already  black  and  thick." 
He  paused  again,  dreaming.  "  Some  of  the  monks 
knew  her  and  her  history,  and  they  decided  together 
that  you  should  be  kept  and  cared  for.  I  will  tell 
you  who  she  was. 

"  Montezuma's  was  not  the  only  so-called  empire 
in  the  Mexican  valley.  There  were  two  others  on  the 
banks  of  the  Texcocan  lake.  There  was  another 
city,  too,  almost  as  beautiful  as  his,  the  city  of  Tex- 
coco.  These  three  empires  formed  a  league  and 


A  DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  21 

were,  when  your  enemies  conquered  them,  virtually 
equal.  The  kings  of  Texcoco  were  as  royal  as  Mon- 
tezuma  himself,  though  the  latter  held  the  predomi 
nance  in  the  councils  and  the  wars.  The  three  ruled 
all  this  land,  farther  to  the  north  than  this,  and  farther 
south  than  Yucatan.  Before  the  conquest  Texcoco 
was  torn  with  wars  of  the  succession.  One  branch 
of  the  royal  family  was  driven  away,  a  cousin  of  the 
king  seizing  the  throne.  A  brother  of  that  king  was 
one  of  those  driven  out.  In  the  event  of  there  being 
no  heir  from  him  who  held  the  throne  or  him  who 
claimed  it,  this  brother's  descendants  would  be  the 
rightful  kings.  After  so  many  years,  that  has  come 
to  pass.  That  wronged  Texcocan,  after  using  all  his 
powers  in  vain  to  win  Montezuma  to  his  cause,  wan 
dered  in  the  mountains  for  many  months.  His 
brother  at  last  came  into  his  own  through  the  inter 
vention  of  Cortes,  and  he  expected  again  to  be  taken 
into  favor.  In  this  treachery  disappointed  him.  He 
who  then  took  the  throne  feared  this  wandering 
brother  would  attempt  a  usurpation.  The  latter  was 
hunted  down  just  previous  to  the  conquest  and  would 
have  been  killed.  Absolutely  alone  he  fled  far  to  the 
west,  over  many  mountains  and  plains,  being  days 
with  scarcely  any  food.  One  evening  near  sunset  he 
arrived  at  the  summit  of  a  ridge,  and  looked  down 
into  the  bosom  of  this  lake,  then  called  Chapalac. 
The  beauty  of  its  circling  mountains,  the  limpidness 
of  its  waters,  soothed  him.  At  his  feet  lay  a  little 
fishing  village,  the  same  they  call  to  this  day  Tizapan. 
He  descended,  found  shelter  among  these  simple 
folk,  kept  the  knowledge  of  his  identity  to  himself, 
and  spent  his  days  and  died  there.  But  he  had  mar 
ried  one  of  the  maidens  of  the  village.  To  her  alone 
he  confided  the  secret  and  laid  on  her  the  solemn  io- 


22  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

junction  that  the  knowledge  of  his  royalty  should  go 
down,  a  sacred  secret  in  the  line,  till  some  future  date 
should  restore  it  to  its  own.  Just  before  his  death  he 
made  her  swear  it.  He  died  in  ignorance  of  the  fall 
of  Mexico,  and  the  fact  that  the  kingdom  whose  se 
cret  his  wife  held  was  swept  away.  She  had  two  sons, 
and  they,  too,  were  intrusted  with  the  truth  and  cer 
tain  written  proofs  of  it.  So  the  line  descended.  It 
branched  away  from  the  lake,  and  I  have  studied  it 
elsewhere.  Some  of  its  branches  are  lost ;  there  is 
only  one  that  is  clear  to  the  present  day.  One  of  its 
members  was  a  bishop  in  Guadalajara  one  hundred 
and  fifty  years  ago ;  another  died  fighting  a  corn  in 
surrection  in  the  city  of  Zacatecas  near  the  end  of  the 
last  century.  As  the  line  descended,  the  written  se 
cret,  with  its  gradual  accumulation  of  added  proof, 
descended  with  it,  cherished  fondly  to  the  death  of  its 
every  member.  Fourteen  years  ago  the  only  living 
representative  was  a  woman  of  twenty  years.  She 
was  beautiful.  Her  blood  was  pure  as  the  blood  of 
the  old  emperors.  Not  one  taint  of  the  Spaniard  had 
entered  the  line.  She  had  the  bearing,  the  untouched 
strength  of  mind,  and  the  will  of  royalty." 

The  speaker  sighed,  shaded  his  face  with  his  hand, 
and  paused. 

"  Well,  she  bore  a  son,"  he  continued,  "  and  died." 

The  boy  was  trembling  from  head  to  foot.  He 
arose  and  seized  the  other's  hand,  half  in  a  curious 
frankness,  half  in  agitation. 

"Am  I  the  boy?"  he  cried. 

"  You  are  the  boy." 

The  weight  of  it  fell  on  Vicente  then,  and  he  could 
say  no  more.  His  face  was  gray-brown,  and  he  again 
sat  down. 

"  Her  secret  was  intrusted  to  me,"  said  the  hermit. 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  23 

"  She  knew  the  church  to  be  against  the  folly  of  Hi 
dalgo.  She  knew  the  Dominican  monastery  at  Gua 
dalajara  to  be  in  favor  of  royalty.  She  had  no  grown 
member  of  the  family  to  whom  to  intrust  the  secret, 
and  you  were  too  young.  And  —  I  had  been  a 
friend  to  her.  So  she  died,  leaving  it  to  me.  Two 
of  my  brother  monks  were  told,  and  it  was  decided 
that  if  the  time  came  to  help  you  to  your  own,  your 
old  rights  and  the  old  rights  of  the  church  at  once 
might  be  restored.  It  was  agreed  that,  to  a  certain 
age,  you  should  be  raised  among  the  common  people, 
that  you  might  know  them.  I  was  leaving  then  the 
monastery,  even  that  little  of  the  world  I  was  putting 
behind  me.  I  carried  you  to  this  lake  and  thence  to 
Chapala,  and  gave  you  to  Francisco  and  to  Julia. 
Yesterday  word  came  to  me  from  the  Chapala  priest 
and  the  monastery  that  Julia  was  dying.  Then,  too, 
the  time  is  coming.  So  I  went  and  brought  you.  I 
had  paid  Francisco  much  to  keep  you.  I  had  to  pay 
him  more  to  get  you  away  without  disturbance,  for  he 
wanted  you  to  help  him  with  his  fishing  boats.  Ha ! 
ha  !  "  The  laugh  was  grim.  "  Fishing  boats  !  As 
the  Christ  said  on  the  borders  of  a  lake  like  this : 
'  Come,  I  will  make  you  a  fisher  of  men ! ' 

There  was  another  long  pause,  and  the  boy,  scarcely 
able  to  sit,  tingling  in  every  nerve,  waited. 

"  The  least  touch  of  the  match,"  continued  his 
companion  slowly,  "  is  sufficient  to  raise  a  revolution 
in  this  inflammable  land.  It  needs  the  strong  hand  of 
a  rightful  king  to  hold  it  in  its  proper  course.  I  say 
again,  the  people  are  ready  for  you.  You  are  to  say 
whether  or  not  you  will  make  yourself  ready  for 
them.  If  you  tell  me  yes,  you  shall  be  taken  to-mor 
row  night  —  rather  to-night,  for  it  must  be  already 
day  —  to  the  monastery  at  Guadalajara.  You  will 


24  .-/    DREAM   OF  A    THRONE 

be  cared  for,  educated,  trained  there  by  careful  hands. 
And  you  will  be  taught  the  world  you  are  to  con 
quer.  I  brought  you  here,  first  because  this  is  half 
the  distance  to  the  spot  on  the  shore  where  a  horse 
man  will  meet  you  to  carry  you  thither ;  second,  be 
cause  here  my  purposes  as  to  your  destinies  took 
unchangeable  shape ;  third,  because  here,  locked  in 
the  ground,  I  keep  the  proofs,  and  I  am  going  to  in 
trust  them  to  you.  I  wanted  you  to  carry  through 
all  your  life  the  memory  of  this  night,  the  picture  of 
this  place,  and  the  face  of  this  lonely  old  man,  that 
you  may  know  the  life  and  the  secrecy  that  guards 
your  destiny.  For  child,  child,"  and  his  voice  was 
unsteady,  "  your  destiny  is  mine." 

The  hand  that  had  again  shaded  his  face  was  taken 
away. 

"  Tell  me  if  you  are  ready.  Your  people  were 
driven  from  their  Eden  and  made  to  toil  and  sweat 
three  hundred  years  in  bondage.  Come.  I  will  lead 
you  back  that  you  may  see  again  the  cherubim  and 
the  flaming  sword  that  turneth  every  way  and  know 
again  where  is  your  race's  tree  of  life." 

The  boy  arose  impassioned,  fell  on  his  knees 
beside  the  hermit,  and  clasped  him  as  he  would  have 
clasped  a  father. 

"  I  will  do  it.     Help  me,  oh  Holy  Mary!  " 

To  this  the  hermit  replied  nothing,  nor  did  he 
touch  the  youth  with  his  hands.  A  look  that  was  a 
mixture  of  daring  and  of  fear,  and,  too,  of  some 
stronger  passion,  flooded  his  face  as  he  stared  at  the 
kneeling  figure.  When  the  boy  arose  he  said  : 

"You  will  think  of  it  long  and  deeply." 

He  too  was  on  his  feet,  going  in  scarcely  concealed 
agitation  to  the  entrance. 

"Sleep    there,"   he   said,    pointing    to    the    couch, 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  25 

and  went  out  of  the  low  door  and  closed  it  behind 
him. 

To  Vicente,  wrought  to  the  highest  strain  qf  emo 
tion,  it  seemed  for  a  moment  that  with  the  thud  of 
the  closing  door  he  must  awake  from  his  dream.  He 
sat  down  on  the  cot  and  watched  the  wavering  halo 
round  the  candle's  flame.  His  gaze  followed  the  rays 
and  rested  on  the  shelf  with  the  bread  and  the  bottle, 
on  the  table  with  the  books,  and  on  the  unspeaking 
stones  of  the  walls.  He  lay  down  at  full  length,  his 
eyes  again  on  the  halo.  He  had  hardly  done  so 
when  he  fell  asleep.  He  slept  profoundly,  dream- 
lessly,  for  twelve  hours. 


CHAPTER  III 

IT  was  the  opening  of  the  door  that  awoke  him. 
He  started  up  with  a  cry  and  saw  the  old  man 
standing  at  the  bedside,  a  fresh  candle  in  his  hand. 
Of  the  white  light  of  the  hermit's  face,  there  was  no 
abatement.  The  latter  then  talked  to  the  youth  again 
for  an  hour,  in  that  same  low,  convincing,  compelling 
tone,  now  standing  before  him  fastening  on  him  his 
eyes,  now  walking  with  long  strides  to  and  fro  the 
length  of  the  little  cell.  His  form  seemed  taller,  as 
though  it  straightened  with  the  inspiration  of  his 
words.  There  was  nothing  left  unsaid.  The  pitiable 
plight  of  the  nation,  the  duty  of  a  king,  the  future  — 
these  were  the  themes,  rendered  solemn,  sweet, 
glorious  by  a  measured  eloquence  calculated  to 
impress  even  an  older  and  a  less  emotional  heart 
than  Vicente's.  He  stopped  at  last  in  the  middle  of 
his  walking  and  turned  abruptly  on  the  boy. 

"'Are  you  ready?"  he  cried. 

The  listener  had  wakened  with  every  nerve  on  the 
alert.  He  had  drunk  every  word.  He  now  stood  up 
with  every  drop  of  his  blood  bounding  in  his  veins. 

"  I  am  ready,"  said  he. 

The  hermit  went  to  the  shelves,  took  away  the 
stones  at  their  back,  and  drew  out  two  small 
packages. 

"  These  are  the  proofs,"  he  told  the  boy,  putting 
one  into  his  hand.  "  You  will  keep  them  forever, 


A    DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  27 

and  learn  to  read  them.  And  this,"  giving  him  the 
other,  "  is  a  little  money.  You  will  need  but  little 
now.  In  the  time  to  come  you  will  not  forget  the 
tomb  from  which  you  are  to  receive  the  rest." 

"  Why  is  it  a  tomb  at  all?"  suddenly  asked  the 
boy,  half  daring,  half  childishly  frank.  "  And  why 
did  you  leave  the  monastery  instead  of  staying  to 
teach  me  yourself,  and  why  are  you  buried  here?  " 

"  Asked  like  a  king  of  his  subject,"  mused  the 
hermit. 

Saying  no  more,  he  went  to  the  door  and,  opening 
it,  stood  for  a  moment  looking  up  and  out.  No  light 
of  day  penetrated  to  the  cell.  The  boy  reasoned  as 
to  the  hour.  It  must  be  night  again.  Presently  the 
servant  came  down  the  steps  and  in.  He  bore  a 
basket  which  he  put  upon  the  floor.  The  boy  was 
again  struck  with  his  peculiar  appearance.  The  scar 
gave  to  his  face  an  expression  partly  devilish,  partly 
foolish.  His  eyes  and  forehead  bespoke  intelligence. 
His  manner  was  that  of  the  defeated,  even  the  cowed. 
He  went  out. 

"  Eat,"  said  the  hermit. 

The  youth  found  wine,  bread,  beans,  and  fruit  in 
the  basket.  He  ate  heartily,  drank  some  wine,  and 
stood  up  again  looking  his  benefactor  fearlessly  in 
the  eye. 

"  I  am  ready  to  go  now,"  he  said  briefly. 

The  hermit  again  opened  the  door;  the  servant 
came  nearly  to  the  entrance  and  stood  waiting  on  the 
steps  in  the  shadows  outside. 

Vicente  approached  those  shadows.  His  bene 
factor  took  his  hand  and  pressed  it  so  that  it  ached, 
saying : 

"  Boy,  your  soul  is  your  mother's  soul,  and  your 
destiny  is  beyond  even  a  hermit's  dreams." 


28  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

The  speaker  wheeled  away,  plainly  agitated.  He 
went  to  the  farthest  side  of  the  cell,  crying  strangely, 
with  his  back  to  the  youth : 

"  Go  !    Leave  me  !     Leave  me  !  " 

In  the  doorway  Vicente  turned. 

"  I  only  want  to  be  sure  of  one  thing,"  said  he,  "  if 
you  will  promise  it  to  me." 

The  old  man  wheeled  again  and  waited. 

"  I  want  the  priest  in  Chapala  to  teach  Clarita  to 
read,"  said  the  boy. 

"  It  shall  be  done,"  was  the  reply,  "  and  in  return 
I  shall  exact  this  promise  of  you.  You  are  never  to 
seek  this  spot  again  till  it  seeks  you.  You  are  never 
to  inquire  its  location.  No  curiosity,  no  motives 
good  or  bad,  are  to  lead  you  to  search  for  me  till  I 
have  called  you.  If  you  never  so  much  as  hear  of 
me  till  your  throne  be  established  you  are  not  to 
think  it  strange.  Simply  in  silence  trust  me,  believe 
that  I  have  reason  and  know  my  course,  and  seek  not 
to  unearth  this  tomb,  lest  its  power  to  help  you  fail. 
Will  you  promise  me  this?" 

"  I  promise  it,"  said  the  boy,  and  went  out. 

He  was  just  outside  the  door.  His  gray-brown 
face,  lit  with  determination,  a  face  so  much  lighter 
than  that  of  the  slavish  figure  behind  him,  seemed  to 
stand  out  of  the  gloom.  With  a  sudden  sound  like  a 
sob  the  hermit  strode  across  the  cell  and  seized  him 
violently  in  his  arms. 

"The  face,"  cried  he,  "  the  face  too  !  " 

And  he  kissed  the  face  with  passion,  pushed  the 
boy  away,  and  turned  into  the  cell  again,  shutting  the 
door  behind.  The  last  impression  Vicente  had  of 
his  features  was  the  impression  of  suddenly  increased 
wrinkled  age. 

The  servant  and    the  boy  went  out  together,  the 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  29 

servant  leading.  They  passed  over  the  soft  mold 
and  under  the  long  arched  roof.  They  came  out  of 
the  tunnel's  broken  end  and  climbed  the  piles  of 
fallen  stones.  The  sound  of  small  waves,  dashing  on 
the  rocks,  came  suddenly  up  and  the  night  wind  struck 
them.  Over  the  stony  way  they  had  come  they 
descended  to  the  water  and  the  boat  was  rocking  at 
the  shore.  The  night  was  much  as  the  previous  one 
had  been,  starlit ;  and  the  waves  were  no  higher  than 
before.  They  entered  the  boat;  it  was  pushed  off, 
rowed  round  some  points  of  rock,  and  headed  away 
into  the  dim  lake.  After  a  little  time  the  sail  was 
hoisted,  the  boatman  sat  in  the  stern  with  the  sail's 
ropes,  and  the  boy  sat  at  the  prow.  What  dreams, 
what  slow  unrolling  scenes,  what  fears  and  hopes  and 
dazzling  promises,  were  in  the  brain,  then,  of  him 
whose  disposition  since  his  earliest  childhood  had 
been  the  dreamer's, —  him  to  whom  the  waves  breaking 
on  the  beach,  the  sunset  with  its  myriad  clouds  of 
intensely  colored  light  and  its  circle  of  flaming 
mountains,  the  nets  and  the  children  tumbled  to 
gether  on  the  sand,  the  care  of  the  only  mother  he 
had  known,  all  had  held  a  cause  of  visions  and  of 
loneliness,  a  meaning,  a  promise?  In  a  sense  the 
boy  died  as  he  crossed  the  waters  on  that  night,  and 
the  man  was  born,  young  as  he  was.  But  the  man 
knew  nothing  and  must  learn. 

An  hour  passed  as  silently  as  had  been  the  iourney 
on  the  night  before.  He  began  to  wonder  who  could 
be  the  figure  that  sat  so  motionless  in  the  stern. 
From  wondering  this,  he  pictured  his  face.  The 
youth's  imagination  cast  that  visage  constantly  up, 
exaggerated  and  distorted  it.  For  many  minutes  it 
refused  to  be  put  down.  It  seemed  to  speak  pain, 
agony,  crime  ;  or  it  was  mocking  all  these.  The  boy 


30  A   DREAAf  OF  A    THRONE 

grew  intensely  nervous  and  the  first  fear  that  he  had 
felt  since  he  left  the  Chapala  beach  came  on  him, 
now  that  the  strong  influence  of  the  hermit  was  re 
moved.  He  could  not  bear  the  silence.  He  found 
perspiration  starting  from  his  forehead. 

"Who  are  you?"  he  suddenly  cried  aloud. 

There  was  no  answer.  The  waves  lapped  the 
boat's  sides,  and  the  wind  swayed  the  sail  and  blew 
his  hair  round  his  face.  There  seemed  no  doubt 
the  man  was  a  mute.  His  imagined  features  hung 
before  the  boy  for  many  minutes  yet.  The  latter 
heard,  then,  the  dashing  of  waves  behind  him  to  the 
right.  He  had  not  watched  their  course,  nor  looked 
ahead  during  the  last  hour.  He  turned,  and  another 
shore  and  other  rocks  rose  behind  him.  Another 
moment  the  sail  was  down ;  a  little  longer  and  the 
boat  was  run  skilfully  aground  on  a  space  of  beach, 
three  yards  in  length,  left  by  an  opening  amidst 
boulders. 

Only  vaguely  had  Vicente  till  now  realized  his  ab 
solute  ignorance  of  that  spot  of  shore  to  which  the 
hermit  had  led  him.  Now  as  he  leaped  out  it  broke 
on  him  with  full  force.  In  all  the  lake's  one  hundred 
miles  of  length,  two  hundred  and  fifty  miles  of  cir 
cuit,  where  was  the  cell?  And  this  spot,  too,  where 
was  it?  They  could  not  have  crossed  the  lake  in  two 
hours.  They  must  have  crossed,  thought  he,  merely 
a  bay,  sailing  from  one  rocky  point  to  the  arm  oppo 
site.  He  knew  of  no  such  bay.  They  might  be  at 
the  extreme  western  end  of  the  lake  where  it  narrows. 
He  had  but  a  moment  to  puzzle  over  this,  for  two 
horsemen  and  a  third  riderless  horse  came  along  the 
beach  over  a  stony  trail.  One  of  them  brought  a 
basket  and  gave  it  to  the  mute,  who,  putting  it  and 
himself  in  the  boat,  lay  down  there,  doubtless  waiting 


A   DREAM  OF-  A    THRONE  31 

for  a  turn  of  the  wind  before  retracing  his  course. 
The  other  horseman  dismounted  and  gave  the  third 
animal  to  the  boy. 

"  The  hermit  has  intrusted  you  to  us,"  he  said, 
without  preface.  "  To  the  monastery.  Come !  " 

Vicente  mustered  his  courage.  A  new,  half-savage 
delight,  such  as  the  boy  feels  in  reading  of  strange 
adventures,  took  possession  of  him.  But  the  reality 
of  it,  and  the  weight  and  purpose  of  it  never  left  him. 
He  mounted,  and  they  rode  away.  The  rocks  clinked 
under  them.  They  ascended  a  low  knoll,  and  came 
by  a  single  path  to  an  opening  between  peaks  where 
they  rose  higher  and  higher  to  the  connecting  ridge, 
and  then  descended  again  to  a  valley.  They  struck 
a  wider  road  after  a  time,  and  spurred  on.  For  hours 
the  horses  were  urged  to  an  almost  incredible  speed. 
The  boy  was  strong  and  tough  as  his  Indian  fathers, 
and  he  rode  well.  Mountains  loomed  to  the  ris^ht 

o 

and  the  left,  were  passed  and  sunk  into  the  shadows. 
Others  rose  to  the  front,  and  were  passed  too.  Here 
a  heavy  gate  was  opened  and  closed  in  silence,  and  a 
tiny  earthen  hut  stood  alone  in  the  wide  stretch. 
Mesquit  bordered  the  way  for  miles,  and  dried 
streams,  waiting  thirsty  for  the  summer  rains,  made 
ruts  that  the  horses  leaped.  The  men  spoke  but 
little,  and  only  of  the  way,  the  hour,  and  the  speed 
of  the  journey.  Vicente,  with  all  his  youthful  vigor, 
was  at  last  sore  and  weary  when,  there  being  still  no 
light  of  dawn  visible  in  the  sky,  they  came  to  the 
outlying  huts  of  the  city  of  Guadalajara,  passed  them, 
and  entered  its  streets  of  cobblestone. 

They  did  not  pass  through  the  city's  centre,  but 
merely  made  a  circuit  in  some  of  the  outskirts.  They 
were  in  the  regions  where  the  streets  become  roads 
into  the  dusty  country,  when  they  stopped  at  the 


32  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

monastery  walls.  One  of  his  companions  dismounted 
at  a  double  door  that  was  twelve  or  fifteen  feet  in 
height  and  a  good  ten  broad.  The  wall  itself  rose 
high  and  massive,  and  extended  seemingly  a  long 
distance.  It  inclosed  unseen  grounds  and  the  build 
ings.  The  dismounted  man  knocked  with  vigor  by 
an  iron  knocker.  A  porter  pushed  back  the  grating 
of  a  little  window,  and  there  was  some  conversation. 
The  door  swung  open  and  the  three  entered  and 
were  closed  in,  the  ponderous  timbers  giving  out  a 
deep  thud.  The  porter  lay  down  on  the  ground,  and 
the  riders  and  their  horses,  finding  themselves  in  a 
wide,  bare  court  that  surrounded  edifices,  crossed  it, 
and,  under  these  second  walls,  circled  the  monastery. 

The  boy  had  nearly  lost  his  sense  of  direction,  when 
they  were  halted  again  at  another  door.  They  were 
all  dismounted  now,  and  after  another  knocking  a 
monk  came  out  and  led  the  horses  away,  saying 
nothing.  One  of  Vicente's  companions  left  him,  the 
other  led  him  in.  The  passages  were  stone  and  cold, 
and  they  came  into  an  inner  patio,  square-columned, 
open  to  the  starlit  sky,  save  where  trees  made  the 
gloom  deeper.  Another  passage  and  another  patio  ; 
and  yet  a  third  passage  and  a  third  patio.  Every 
where  were  silence  and  darkness.  At  length  in  the 
fourth  court,  larger  than  the  others,  where  a  fountain 
played,  there  was  a  ray  of  light.  It  issued  from  a 
cell  under  the  roof  of  a  columned  corn-dor.  To  the 
partly  open  door  of  this  they  went  and  knocked. 
'1  lie  prior  came  out,  and  with  him  the  boy  was  left. 

The  prior  brought  a  candle,  whose  light  fell  softly 
over  his  black  robes  and  over  the  sunken,  colorless 
skin  of  his  face.  He  led  the  way  to  a  fifth  court,  and 
aa  they  passed  the  fountain  the  candle-light  fell  on  an 
iron  stand  which  held  a  book  of  unwieldy  size  chained 


A  DREAM    OF  A    THRONE  33 

to  it  by  an  iron  chain.  Vicente  followed.  The  place 
took  the  bounding  life  out  of  his  veins.  As  they  ap 
proached  the  cell  that  should  be  his,  home-sickness 
swept  over  him  like  pain,  and  the  hut  on  the  Chapala 
sands  was  before  his  eyes.  In  the  cell,  bare  and  rude 
enough,  yet  with  a  bed  on  which  he  could  sleep  him 
self  into  enthusiasm  again,  the  prior  put  down  the 
candle.  To  this  monk  there  was  subject  of  profound 
interest  in  the  slight,  lost  figure  before  him.  He 
looked  into  the  boy's  face,  scrutinizing  it.  Then  he 
blessed  him,  with  his  hand  on  his  head. 

"  All  will  be  well,"  said  he. 

He  went  away  and  shut  the  child  in. 

The  outer  walls  that  inclosed  the  monastery  grounds 
extended  four  hundred  yards  in  each  direction ;  they 
were  twenty  feet  high.  In  the  hundreds  of  years  of 
Spanish  rule  in  Mexico  the  church  acquired  vast 
tracts  of  land  and  built  vast  edifices.  A  later  policy 
has  swung  back  the  secret  doors  and  made  public  the 
cloister,  and  in  many  cities  walls  like  these  still  stand, 
but  inclose  barracks,  hospitals,  prisons.  In  former 
days  these  squares  held  the  great  strength  of  the  land, 
and  out  of  their  secrecy  and  their  silence  issued  who 
knows  what  arms  of  power? 

When  that  outer  door  shut  the  boy  in,  it  was  not 
to  open  again  for  him,  nor  was  he  so  much  as  to  see 
the  world,  for  six  long  months.  Indeed  he  never  be 
came  wholly  free  from  the  influence  of  the  place,  and 
the  day  when  he  finally  left  it  for  the  last  time  was 
to  be  a  day  of  much  meaning. 

It  shall  not  be  the  purpose  of  this  narrative  to 
relate  the  workings  of  that  power  by  which  the 
church,  in  so  many  countries  and  so  many  ages,  has 
molded  its  agents  and  brought  about  its  ends.  In 
finite  patience  seems  to  have  been  its  watchword. 

3 


34  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

Let  months  and  years  count  for  nothing.  Do  not 
act  till  the  time  is  ripe.  If  the  long,  long  care  and 
building  of  one  set  of  the  church's  servants  do  not 
finish  the  task,  this  is  nothing.  These  being  dead 
the  next  shall  take  it  up.  Be  there  born  in  the  heart 
of  Rome,  or  in  that  of  a  dependency  of  Rome,  a 
purpose,  it  shall  be  deathless.  Rome  shall  bury 
haste,  she  shall  hug  the  secret,  she  shall  cover  the 
egg  for  years,  for  centuries  if  she  must,  till  it  hatch. 

Weight  and  gloom  oppressed  the  boy  for  two 
months.  He  scarcely  left  his  cell.  The  depth  of  the 
purpose  should  be  given  time  to  sink,  slowly,  deeply, 
into  his  very  soul.  Who,  inexperienced,  can  depict 
the  effect  of  the  cloister  on  the  spirit  of  a  boy? 
His,  and  they  saw  it  plainly  and  joyed  in  it,  was  too 
strong  to  break.  It  took  in  seriousness.  He  fasted 
and  saw  few  of  the  monks.  The  prior's  sunken 
features  and  eyes  of  keen  life  were  much  with  him. 
He  was  led  slowly,  coldly,  in  the  way  of  his  future. 
He  walked,  on  rare  occasions,  like  a  small,  silent 
ghost,  through  the  corridors  and  the  many  patios, 
where  the  trees  reflected  the  sun  and  the  fruit  hung 
yellow.  He  talked  a  little  with  the  figures  about 
him.  He  learned,  at  first,  almost  nothing  concern 
ing  them.  They  had  their  cells,  their  refectory, 
their  chapel.  There  seemed  to  be  unlimited  num 
bers  of  them,  but  the  place  was  so  large  there  were 
seldom  more  than  a  few  together,  yonder  at  the 
fountain,  here  in  the  court,  passing  there  under  the 
shadows  of  the  columns,  or  chanting  at  the  altar. 
The  patios,  he  learned,  were  twenty-three.  The 
chapel  was  exactly  in  the  centre.  And  wherever  he 
turned,  were  walls,  walls,  walls.  The  prior  taught 
him  many  things,  solemnly.  There  were  many  con 
ferences  over  his  welfare  of  which  he  knew  nothing. 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  35 

It  was  gradually  explained  to  him  how,  to  know  the 
world  and  to  realize  the  meaning  of  his  destiny,  it 
was  best  first  to  drink  the  dregs  of  bitterness  here. 
Later,  said  they,  he  should  not  be  bound  by  the 
ceremonies  as  were  they.  He  should  be  taught,  and 
should  learn  to  be  freer  than  they.  But  now  — 

So  he  fasted,  he  prayed,  he  walked  in  gloom.  No 
element  of  the  boy  was  allowed  to  show  itself.  He 
was,  for  the  time,  a  monk,  young  as  he  was.  If  he 
did  not  understand  it  he  did  not,  at  first,  question. 
He  was  dumb.  Many  a  sick  hour  his  brain  revolted 
and  would  show  him  nothing  but  Clarita,  the  lake, 
the  woman  who  had  been  faithful  as  his  mother.  But 
his  outdoor,  vigorous  spirit,  though  dormant,  was 
unable  to  be  crushed.  Other  days  his  dreams  of 
old  came  back,  and  the  mystic  in  him  roused  and 
responded  to  these  gloomy  walls,  these  stone  pas 
sages,  these  trees  and  fountains.  Toward  the  two 
months'  end  he  grew  unendurably  weary  of  this 
cloister  life.  The  Aztec  blood  in  him  was  too  pure. 
They  found  him  one  day,  when  they  had  left  him  in 
the  deepest  gloom,  leaping  the  stones  of  the  fountain 
with  a  wild  freedom  like  a  panther.  They  took 
counsel  together.  The  meaning  of  his  own  future 
had  not  sufficiently  sunk  into  his  understanding. 
So  a  monk,  one  he  had  learned  to  hate  (though 
there  were  many  he  respected  and  a  few  he  loved) 
came  to  his  cell,  whither  he  had  slunk  away  abashed. 

"  You  must  scourge  yourself,"  said  he  solemnly, 
and  held  up  the  scourge. 

There  was  a  deep  vein  in  his  own  nature,  of  the  ex 
istence  of  which  the  boy  had  till  then  been  ignorant. 
His  blood  boiled.  He  was  like  an  enraged  king. 
He  scarcely  knew  what  he  did.  Scourge  himself — 
like  the  lowest?  They  had  done  much  with  him. 


36  A    DREAM    OF  A    THRONE 

\\c  had  submitted  for  weeks.  He  had  desired  to 
submit  and  had  put  the  boy's  spirit  down  and  tried 
to  learn.  He  had  suffered,  feared,  wept.  He  had 
grown  thin  and  weak.  The  eyes  that  glared  sud 
denly  on  the  priest  were  sunken  eyes.  He  knew  in 
that  moment  who  he  was. 

"  I  am  no  monk !  "  he  shrieked,  and,  springing 
toward  his  visitor,  seized  the  scourge  from  his  hand 
and  brought  it  hissing  through  the  air,  straight  across 
the  other's  face.  The  monk  beat  a  precipitate  and 
scandalized  retreat,  his  cheek  bleeding.  He  cried 
blasphemy  for  many  a  day.  The  boy  shrank  trem 
bling  into  a  corner,  rage  and  remorse  combating  in 
him. 

It  was  a  question  for  the  prior  to  settle,  and  the 
prior  was  old  and  worldly-wise,  despite  the  cloister. 
He  chuckled  to  himself  over  the  matter,  which  he 
seemed  to  weigh  with  solemnity.  It  proved  to  him 
that  the  boy's  nature  was  a  nature  to  be  feared.  It 
was  time,  said  he,  that  a  little  more  liberty  should 
be  granted,  and  his  education  should  be  begun  and 
vigorously  pursued.  So  Vicente  was  reprimanded 
only.  Then  he  was  led  out  to  the  big  book  chained 
in  the  patio. 

"  This  is  the  Bible,"  said  the  prior.  "  The  com 
mon  people  should  not  read  it,  but  you,  you  are  to  be 
taught  to  read,  not  only  this,  but  many  other  things." 

The  monks  took  him  in  hand,  and  the  lessons  of 
all  kinds  began.  They  found  him  apt.  The  monk 
he  had  scourged  did  not  approach  him,  but  frowned 
from  a  distance  with  bandaged  cheek.  Even  yet 
they  fed  the  boy  but  little.  But  he  wanted  little. 
And  many  hardships  were  put  upon  him.  He  was 
cnven,  after  his  studies,  heavy  labor;  but  he  pre 
ferred  it  to  idleness. 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  37 

At  the  end  of  the  half  year  they  sent  him  out  on 
certain  days,  like  Luther  of  old,  to  beg  in  the  streets. 
They  wanted  him,  too,  to  learn  the  city  and  the 
customs  of  its  people.  So  he  scudded  through  the 
narrow  ways,  begging  his  bread,  dressed  in  the  habit 
of  the  cloister.  He  prowled  into  every  nook  and 
corner  of  the  town.  He  was  many  a  time  lonely  and 
sad  and  wandered  on,  even  in  the  night,  to  drown 
his  restlessness.  The  people  of  some  streets  grew  to 
know  the  face  of  the  boy,  a  face  thin  but  strong, 
gray-white,  unlike  the  more  ordinary  Mexican  face. 
The  main  plaza  in  the  town's  centre  was  haunted 
by  him.  The  deep  cathedral  bells  seemed  to  him 
to  find  echo  in  the  emotions  of  his  heart,  in  its  mem 
ories,  its  capacity  for  love,  its  loneliness  and  its 
hopes.  He  wandered  under  the  plaza's  trees  and 
among  its  flowers.  He  went  under  the  cathedral's 
pointed  towers  and  into  its  doors.  The  mass  was 
solemn  to  him ;  but  there  was  one  thing  strange  in 
his  conduct.  He  would  not  kneel.  They  had 
noticed  this  long  and  with  pain  in  the  monastery 
chapel.  They  had  prayed  with  him,  exhorted  him, 
threatened  him,  punished  him.  He  had  listened  to 
it  all.  He  had  not  defied  them  ;  he  had  not  seemed 
rebellious.  He  had  meditated  on  it  and  made  no 
reply.  They  had  watched  his  eyes  and  pale  face, 
and,  puzzled,  left  him.  He  would  not  kneel. 

He  learned,  in  the  time  that  then  passed,  to  read. 
He  had  learned  a  little  of  the  Chapala  priest.  The 
prior  brought  him  such  books  as  were  calculated  to 
inspire  him,  histories  of  his  people  and  their  wrongs, 
works  relating  to  kings  and  their  rights,  treatises  on 
the  divine  origin  of  the  church  and  its  legitimate 
power.  In  his  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  year  in 
particular,  these  books  and  many  more  absorbed 


38  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

him.  Also,  he  went  much  to  the  chained  volume  by 
the  fountain.  The  Old  Testament  was  his  favorite. 
He  read  it  as  another  boy  reads  a  fairy-tale.  He 
dreamed  over  it,  lay  awake  thinking  of  it,  arose  with 
his  nerves  in  tension  in  the  middle  of  the  night  and 
carried  his  candle  to  it  and  read.  The  books  seemed 
to  have  changed  him  more  than  all  else.  He 
became  more  silent,  meditative,  self-contained,  as 
though  he  felt  a  power  grown  in  him.  He  had  the 
look  and  the  manner  of  one  much  older  than  he. 
One  night  he  found  in  the  chained  book  a  pas 
sage  that  had  failed  to  strike  him  before.  He  re 
called  that  the  hermit  had  quoted  it.  He  carried  it, 
after  that,  till  the  day  of  his  death,  in  his  heart. 

"  And  he  placed  at  the  east  of  the  Garden  of  Eden 
cherubim,  and  a  flaming  sword  which  turned  every 
way,  to  keep  the  way  of  the  tree  of  life." 

Needless  to  say,  long  since  had  he  devoured  the 
contents  of  those  proofs  of  his  lineage  which  the  her 
mit  had  submitted  to  him.  He  read  them  over  and 
over.  He  kept  them  locked  away  in  safety  save 
when  he  took  them  out  to  pore  over  them  yet  again. 
The  proof  was  there,  clear  and  indisputable  back  to 
the  old  time,  and  every  letter  of  it  he  learned  by 
heart  —  his  mother's  epistle  written  in  a  fine,  peculiar 
hand  and  ending  with  a  passionate  appeal  to  her  child, 
then  unborn  —  the  preceding  documents  extending 
back,  older  and  yellower;  among  them  that  of  him 
who  had  been  killed  in  Zacatecas  and  whose  involved 
sentences  embodied  a  curiously  quaint  dream  of  the 
imperial  future  —  the  crisp  statement  of  facts  written 
one  hundred  and  fifty  years  before  by  the  Guadala 
jara  bishop,  who  trusted  his  cause  to  the  Virgin  — 
finally,  the  irregular  piece  of  sheepskin,  doubtless 
from  some  flock  of  Chapalac's  shore,  whereon  were 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  39 

the  unfading  hieroglyphics  of  the  old  prince,  relat 
ing  his  wanderings.  This  last  the  boy  carried 
always  with  him.  It  was  like  a  talisman  that  brought 
to  him  the  help  of  those  warrior  spirits  who  had 
been  as  royal  as  Montezuma's  self. 

The  time  was  approaching  when  the  monks  in 
tended  sending  him  back,  for  a  year,  to  his  people, 
to  study  them  more  thoroughly,  to  be  in  touch  with 
their  interests,  to  wander  all  the  lake  region  over  and 
be  a  part  of  it;  then  again  to  return  for  the  final 
training  and  the  final  wait  till  the  opportune  moment 
for  the  blow. 


CHAPTER    IV 

CLARITA  had  not  forgotten  him.  If  the  fishers 
knew  where  he  was  they  did  not  tell  her.  She 
was  too  little  at  first  to  know  how  to  question.  After 
months,  during  which  she  rarely  heard  his  name,  she 
lost  all  disposition  to  question.  But  her  life  was  not 
what  it  should  have  been.  She  still  lived  in  the 
hut  with  Francisco ;  and  Anastasio,  his  tall,  lean 
fellow-fisherman,  had  come  to  live  with  them.  What 
care  she  received  was  little  more  than  to  be  hastily 
fed,  and,  for  the  rest,  to  take  care  of  herself.  She 
played  with  the  children  on  the  sand,  or  went  wan 
dering  with  the  enterprising  Pepa  up  St.  Michael's 
sides  over  the  town.  She  had  in  her  an  unexpressed 
longing  for  better  care,  and  she  remembered  Vicente 
and  held  him  in  her  heart. 

She  grew  pretty  as  she  grew  older  —  not  a  beauty 
like  Pepa's.  Pepa's  eyes  learned  to  flash  at  eight 
years  of  age.  There  was  freedom,  grace,  daring, 
in  Pepa's  very  carriage.  She  did  naughty  things, 
too,  and  all  the  village  knew  her.  If  she  was 
punished  by  her  mother  at  the  inn  she  cried  out  that 
when  Vicente  came  to  marry  her,  he  would  punish 
her  mother  too  and  the  whole  fishing  town.  She  also 
remembered  the  boy,  but  she  had  so  many  other 
things  in  her  lively,  scintillant  brain,  that  the  mem 
ory  gradually  grew  vague.  With  Clarita  it  was  dif 
ferent.  She  was  quieter ;  her  prettincss  was  modest, 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  41 

subdued.  Her  hair  was  oddly  auburn,  and  when  she 
washed  it  in  the  lake  on  Saturdays  and  dried  it  in 
the  sunny  breeze,  it  glistened  like  gold ;  which  gold 
Pepita  mingled  with  her  black  tresses,  let  the  wind 
wrap  the  two  of  them  in  the  combined  mesh,  and 
ran  off  laughing  with  Clarita  held  round  her  slim  body 
by  Pepita's  strong  young  arm,  both  girls  barefoot. 

Francisco  was  cruel  at  times,  and  loud  and  boister 
ous  always.  He  did  not  understand  the  child  and 
little  cared.  So  she  did  not  love  him.  She  loved 
nobody  there,  unless  it  were  Pepita,  whose  spirit  was 
too  wild  for  her.  She  sat  on  the  sand  under  a  huge 
salati  tree  that  stood  by  the  shore,  and,  though  she 
did  not  think  it,  her  little  heart  was  crying  for  some 
thing  beyond.  She  thought  at  those  times  under 
the  wild  fig's  great  branches  of  the  brother  she  had 
romped  with,  the  brother  who  had  carried  her  on 
his  shoulders,  tumbled  her  in  the  sand,  eaten  and 
slept  with  her,  and  disappeared  across  the  lake  in  the 
night.  When  she  was  eight  the  priest  came  and 
arranged  that  he  should  teach  her.  He  explained  to 
her  that  Vicente  had  exacted  the  promise.  She  had 
not  heard  the  name  for  months.  Her  blood  leaped 
up  and  her  face,  not  a  very  dark  one,  flushed  with  an 
eager  blush,  and  the  growing  dimples  in  her  cheeks 
were  suddenly  deep. 

"  Where  is  he  ?"  she  said,  half  afraid  to  ask. 

"  He  has  gone  away  to  learn,  too,  but  he  will 
come  back." 

She  was  only  bewildered  at  this.  But  she  asked  no 
more.  His  memory  was  the  only  thing  of  reality 
and  happiness  in  her  life;  he  had  wanted  her  to 
learn,  and  she  would  learn.  That  one  past  wish  of 
the  boy's  was  enough  for  all  her  heart  and  its  affec 
tions  to  tie  to. 


42  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

She  was  nine  years  old  when  she  went  once  with 
the  fishermen  to  the  city  market  with  the  fish.  Some 
of  the  men  went  early  every  Thursday  morning,  that 
Guadalajara's  market  might  be  full  of  fish  for  Friday. 
The  fishers  clubbed  together  for  this  and  took  turns 
in  going,  two  making  the  journey  for  all.  Pcpa  had 
already  gone  more  than  once.  She  had  run  off  ,to 
go.  She  used  to  own  a  burro  of  her  own,  and  if  the 
men  would  not  permit  her  to  ride  between  the 
baskets  on  theirs,  she  rode  hers.  Alas  !  the  grow 
ing,  high-spirited,  reckless  Pepita  cost  her  wrinkled- 
faced  mother  at  the  wesoii  many  a  night's  sleep. 
Clarita  would  not  do  as  she.  When  it  came  Fran 
cisco's  turn  she  begged  to  go.  It  was  rarely  he  let 
her  do  anything  like  that;  but  he  let  her  now. 

Francisco,  Anastasio,  and  Fortino  the  big,  circled 
out  on  the  lake  in  the  little  boat  all  night,  dropping 
the  meshes  of  the  long  net.  They  drew  its  two  ends 
then  to  the  beach,  and  pulled  in  the  net's  circle,  using 
both  hands  and  feet,  till  the  white  fish  wriggled  on 
the  sand.  This  was  repeated  till  three  o'clock  of 
Thursday  morning.  Then  they  piled  the  fish  in  tall 
cylindrical  baskets  among  wet  banana  leaves  with  wet 
banana  leaves  over  the  top  to  keep  them  cool.  The 
burros  were  driven  out  of  a  lot  behind  the  hut,  and 
came  stupidly.  The  baskets  were  roped  to  them, 
one  on  either  side  of  each  burro.  Then  Clarita  was 
awakened,  arose  from  the  earthen  floor,  put  on  her 
little  long  dress  of  pink  cotton  and  heV  blue  rebozo, 
and  came  rubbing  her  eyes.  By  lantern  light  on  the 
beach  Anastasio's  long  arm  hoisted  her  to  a  burro's 
back,  and  she  sat  high  up  perched  between  the  two 
guarding  baskets,  with  her  feet  out  on  the  burro's 
neck.  Then  the  journey  began,  and  Fortino — he 
who  had  carried  her  mother's  coffin  away  on  his 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  43 

shoulder  —  was  left  with  the  nets.  Francisco  and 
Anastasio  walked  behind  the  burros  (there  were  five 
of  them),  beating  them  with  sticks,  and  making  the 
journey,  so  nearly  as  possible,  a  lively  one. 

They  went  for  hours  thus  over  stony  ways,  and  were 
climbing  the  ridge  that  stretched  between  mountains 
when  the  sun  came  up.  They  stopped  on  the  ridge's 
summit,  with  all  the  great  lake  spread  out  like  a  silver 
jewel  in  its  porphyry  boundary  of  peaks  behind,  the 
sun  reflected  in  it,  and  the  valley  and  its  trail  t<? 
Guadalajara  to  the  front.  The  girl  leaped  down,  and 
they  made  a  fire  of  brush  on  the  ground  and  warmed 
beans  and  ate  tortillas.  Then  they  were  away  again, 
and  noon  found  them  half  the  distance  to  the  city. 
Dinner  at  one  was  like  the  breakfast,  and  the  stream 
they  ate  it  by  was  tiny  and  poor,  for  it  was  in  March, 
—  a  season  warm  enough  here,  but  dry.  Clarita 
mounted  again  in  silence,  dust  on  her  dress  and  on 
her  auburn  hair,  and  the  animals  were  beaten  on. 

"  What  would  you  do,  Anastasio,"  cried  Francisco, 
in  a  speculative  vein,  "  if  you  had  a  thousand  dollars  ?  " 

Anastasio,  the  chief  characteristic  of  whose  attenu 
ated  body  was  laziness,  whistled  slowly  as  though  the 
sum  were  not  comprehensible. 

"  I  'd  just  sit  down  on  the  shore,"  drawled  he,  "  and 
let  them  bring  me  tequila  from  the  first  day  of  Janu 
ary  round  to  the  last  day  of  December,  leaving  out 
Guadalupe  day,  and  San  Francisco  day,  and  a  few 
more  fiestas,  when  they  could  make  \\.  pulque  " 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  "  shouted  Francisco,  as  though  it  were 
a  joke  of  great  refreshing  qualities.  "  But  after  a  day 
you  would  n't  be  in  a  condition  to  drink  it !  " 

"  Then  they  could  just  set  it  around  on  the  sand 
till  I  came  to,"  drawled  Anastasio. 

"  I   never    saw   the    amount,"    mused    the    other, 


44  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

dreamily.  "The  most  I  ever  had — well,  you  know 
when  it  was  —  when  they  paid  me,"  with  a  wink  at 
the  girl,  who  was  on  the  second  burro  to  the  front, 
"  to  keep  him,  you  know." 

"  And  you  spent  it  infernally  regularly.  Yours 
was  a  great  deal.  Pay  you  for  taking  him,  pay  you 
for  keeping  him,  and  you  made  them  pay  you  for 
taking  him  away.  Francisco,"  continued  the  drawl 
ing  fisherman,  swinging  himself  all  the  while  lazily 
along,  and  towering  far  over  six  feet  in  lank  height, 
"Francisco,  the  mother  of  God  will  reward  you." 

"  If  I  could  only  sell  him  again,"  sighed  Francisco, 
breaking  into  a  roar  after  the  sigh,  "  the  reward  would 
be  greater !  " 

Clarita's  burro  chancing  to  lag  at  that  moment, 
they  came  to  her  side.  There  were  tears  in  the 
child's  eyes,  and  when  Francisco  uttered  a  harsh  ex 
clamation  at  the  sight,  she  sobbed.  They  whipped 
the  burro  up,  and  she  was  trotted  on,  her  little  bare 
feet  sticking  out  on  the  animal's  neck,  her  body 
perched  straight  between  the  two  great  baskets,  and 
the  tears  running  slowly  down  her  cheeks. 

It  was  eight  o'clock  at  night  and  dark  when  they 
came  to  the  city.  They  entered  an  inn,  or  meson,  for 
the  poorer  classes.  It  was  low  and  large  and  square, 
built  about  an  open,  stone-paved  court  where  many 
burros  waited.  The  fish  being  at  once  disposed  of  to 
market-men  in  tall  sombreros  and  red  blankets,  the 
fishermen  and  the  girl  went  into  a  dirty  dining-room 
where  some  were  eating  round  a  rude  table  and  some 
were  squatted  on  the  floor.  A  cook  brought  them 
eggs,  and  the  inevitable  tortillas,  and  some  fried 
pork  from  charcoal  fires  that  burned  in  pot-like 
brascros. 

A  half  hour  later  the  child,  lonely,  unhappy,  was 


A    DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  45 

put  to  bed  with  some  women  in  a  bare  room  with  a 
blank  white  wall,  brick  floor,  and  matting  for  a  bed. 
She  fell  asleep.  The  next  morning  the  sound  of 
rockets  awakened  her.  She  started  up  in  dread. 
The  sound  brought  over  her  the  misery  of  that  night 
long  ago  when  her  mother  died.  She  thought  she 
was  to  be  torn  again  from  Vicente.  She  found 
instead  that  it  was  a  feast  day,  and  all  the  city 
was  in  a  giddy  mood.  Francisco  was  calling  her. 
There  were  to  be  bands  in  the  plaza,  a  saint  carried 
with  great  procession  and  pomp  through  all  the 
streets,  illimitable  amounts  of  tequila  drunk,  and,  at 
night,  "  castles  "  and  wheels  in  fireworks.  In  the  res 
taurant  were  crowds  of  men  and  women.  The  men's 
white  clothing  was  all  spotlessly  clean,  and  the  women 
were  in  bright  colors.  Their  shouting  and  laughing 
bewildered  the  child,  and  gorditas  and  chicharrones 
and  many  another  fried  and  sputtering  thing  sizzled 
on  the  charcoal  fires.  She  could  not  eat.  Francisco 
and  Anastasio  had  already  taken  some  liquor,  and 
they  were  as  happy  as  was  possible  for  Mexicans  to 
be  on  a  gala  day.  They  had  the  money  for  the 
fish. 

"  More  tequila ! "  whined  Anastasio.  "  I  am  so 
long,  brothers.  It  takes  so  much  to  get  to  the  bot 
tom  of  me.  Friends,  I  can  always  feel  it  drying  up 
on  the  road  down,  and  my  stomach  is  left  whistling." 

"  Then  it  will  have  whistled  music  enough  for  a 
cock-fight  before  night.  Ha !  ha  !  "  cried  Francisco. 
"  Come  on  !  " 

They  were  out  and  away  to  the  plaza,  Clarita,  her 
blue  rebozo  over  her  head,  following  them  dumbly, 
forgotten.  The  narrow  streets  were  full  of  gay  colors 
and  the  shops  were  crowded.  The  cantinas  were 
fullest  of  all.  Round  the  plaza  were  the  low-arched 


46  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

portalcs  under  whose  continuous  shade  the  people 
promenaded.  The  trees  swung  golden  fruit  in  the 
morning  breeze,  the  flowers  spoke  all  colors,  and  the 
pointed  cathedral  towers  rose  high  against  the  deep 
blue  of  the  Mexican  heavens.  There  was  a  band 
playing,  and  the  girl,  lost  in  its  melodies,  wandered 
nearer  and  nearer  it. 

It  was  all  strange  to  her,  half  awing,  half  fascinating 
her.  She  had  watched  the  crowds  for  an  hour,  mov 
ing  slowly  here  and  there,  and  a  great  yellow  flower 
that  had  swung  over  her  head  was  just  falling  to  the 
ground  at  her  feet,  plucked  by  the  wind,  when  she 
remembered  that  she  had  not  heard  the  loud  jests  of 
her  father  and  his  companion  for  some  time.  She 
was  alone  and  grew  terrified.  She  ran  from  the 
plaza  to  the  arches  of  the  portales,  not  knowing  why 
nor  whither.  As  she  ran  she  caught  sight  of  a  figure 
in  black,  passing  among  the  many  brilliant  colors  of 
the  thronged  street.  She  paused,  she  stopped.  She 
knew  not  whether  her  terror  increased  or  abated. 
The  face  of  the  figure  had  been  toward  her  but  a 
moment;  the  figure  itself  was  passing  on.  She  would 
have  cried  out,  but  could  not.  She  was  in  one 
instant  back  in  the  days  of  her  infancy.  She  would 
have  run  after  the  black  figure,  but  this  too  she  could 
not  do.  She  was  fixed  to  the  spot.  She  saw  it  going 
away,  turning  the  corner  by  the  cathedral,  walking 
slowly  as  though  in  a  rcvery  —  and  it  was  gone. 

After  many  minutes  she  was  able  to  decide  which 
was  the  street  by  which  they  had  come  from  the 
meson.  She  entered  it  and  trudged  on,  her  rcbozo 
fallen  to  her  shoulders.  She  was  sick  and  full  of 
wi-ariness.  She  entered  the  meson  unseen,  crept  into 
the  room  where  the  matting  was,  and  crouched  in  a 
corner  on  it  She  was  trembling.  She  stayed  there 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  47 

all  day,  the  music,  the  rockets,  the  noise  of  the  pro 
cession  when  they  carried  the  gaudy  saint  along  the 
street,  failing  to  draw  her  out.  As  for  Francisco  and 
Anastasio,  they  were  happy  enough,  without  thought 
of  her,  without  intention  of  returning  home  till  the 
festivities  should  be  done.  Tequila  is  a  good  thing 
with  which  to  silence  care.  They  did  not  return  to 
the  meson  till  nearly  night.  They  entered  at  last  in 
mood  half  maudlin,  half  boisterous. 

"  A  little  more  tequila,  mother,"  muttered  Anas 
tasio  to  the  woman  in  the  restaurant.  "  It  has  —  it 
has  got —  nigh  to  the  bottom." 

Francisco,  suddenly  remembering,  went  to  look 
for  the  child.  She  was  not  there. 

The  day's  gloom  and  loneliness  had  produced  their 
fruit.  She  was  not  all  timidity  and  she  had  had  time 
to  think  and  feel.  She  felt  sure  she  had  seen  the 
only  human  being  she  loved,  the  only  one  that  loved 
her.  She  had  been  neglected  all  her  life,  neglected 
and  cruelly  treated  to-day.  She  wanted  him  —  she 
could  bear  it  no  more  without  him.  Toward  evening 
she  crept  out  of  the  meson  again  and  ran  swiftly, 
recklessly  to  the  plaza,  covering  her  face  with  her 
blue  rebozo,  and  arrived  breathless  at  the  cathedral. 
She  hung  about  its  great  iron  gates  for  an  hour, 
hardly  daring  to  hope.  Many  figures  came  out  and 
went  in,  some  of  them  in  black.  None  was  he.  At 
last,  when  the  red  sunset  was  in  the  sky  and  over  the 
street,  the  biggest  of  the  bells  boomed  out  over  her 
head. 

Then  she  saw  him,  slighter  than  the  other  black 
figures,  graceful,  to  her  beautiful.  He  was  coming 
out,  though  the  rest  were  now  going  in,  and  she  saw 
his  face  plainly.  She  had  been  a  tiny  thing  when 
they  took  him  away,  and  years  had  passed.  But  she 


48  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

would  have  known  him  anywhere  in  all  the  world. 
She  saw  his  face  more  plainly  still.  It  had  never 
been  so  white  as  this  in  days  gone  by.  It  had  never 
been  so  thin  nor  the  eyes  so  deep.  She  was  terrified 
anew  at  the  change  in  him,  terror  mixed  with  ecstasy. 
She  did  not  run  to  him.  She  stood  holding  to  the 
iron  of  the  gate,  staring  at  his  eyes.  He  was  a  yard 
from  her,  looking  at  the  ground  and  not  seeing  her, 
when  she  uttered  a  wild,  harsh  cry: 

"  Vicente  !  Vicente  !  " 

He  turned,  surprised,  looked,  caught  her  up,  and 
held  her  sobbing  against  his  breast. 

He  was  alarmed  yet  delighted  to  have  her.  He 
walked  with  her,  at  first  in  silence,  into  one  of  the 
narrow  streets  where  the  seclusion  was  more  marked. 
There  he  put  her  down. 

"  Oh,  Clarita !  "  he  cried,  "  where  did  you  come 
from  — why  are  you  here?  " 

She  was  here  to  find  him,  and  she  told  him  so,  and 
she  never  wanted  to  go  back,  clinging  to  his  hand 
with  all  her  dimples  out  and  the  blushes  there  too, 
the  auburn  hair  blowing  about  her  face  and  the 
happiness  returned. 

Where  did  he  go?  Where  did  they  take  him? 
Where  was  he  now?  She  would  go  too  —  oh! 
mightn't  she,  mightn't  she  stay  with  him? 

"Have  they  treated  you  ill?"  asked  he,  looking 
down  at  her  pityingly.  She  felt  again  that  his  face 
was  changed.  It  was  more  serious,  the  eyes  larger 
and  darker. 

She  told  him  they  had  left  her  here  in  the  streets 
and  she  had  run  back  to  the  inn  and  crouched  on  the 
floor  all  day.  Could  n't  she  stay  with  him  —  please, 
oh  !  could  n't  she  stay  with  him  ? 

He  bit  his  lips  and  there  was  red  blood  in  his  very 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  49 

forehead.  His  anger  at  Francisco  was  boiling  in 
him.  Had  they  begun  to  teach  her  to  read  ? 

"  Oh  yes,  the  padre  teaches  me,  and  I  came  yester 
day  with  the  fish.  Oh  !  can't  I  stay  with  you  ?  " 

"  No,  Clarita,"  he  replied,  and  was  lost  in  a  sudden 
revery.  Then  he  continued  as  though  the  decision 
had  but  then  swept  over  him.  "  But  I  am  coming, 
little  sister,  and  soon.  Look  at  me.  I  promise  to 
come  back." 

He  seemed  wrapped  in  the  meditation  of  his 
purpose  after  that,  and  walked  on,  holding  the  child's 
hand.  She  gripped  his  as  though  never  to  loosen  it, 
and  trudged  with  him.  She  was  terribly  afraid  he 
would  send  her  back.  His  black  clothing  and  his 
silent  manner  filled  her  with  something  like  rever 
ence.  For  the  mere  idea  of  Vicente  had  ever  been  to 
her  an  idea  of  all  that  was  beyond  her  poor  little  life. 

He  walked  faster  and  faster,  dreaming  and  holding 
her  hand.  He  came  to  the  monastery  walls  and 
suddenly  stopped. 

"  Clarita,"  he  said,  "  I  promise  to  come  back  to 
you.  And  when  I  come  I  will  explain  all,  why  I 
went  away,  and  the  thing  that  I  am  going  to  do. 
You  are  going  on,  and  must  study  as  I  wanted  you  to. 
You  will  be  able,  by  and  by,  to  understand  me.  And, 
under  the  salati  tree  I  am  coming  to  talk  it  over  with 
you,  there  by  the  lake  where  we  played.  Francisco 
does  not  know  v^hat  he  does.  I  shall  teach  him  to 
treat  you  better.  And  now,  because  it  is  not  per 
mitted  that  you  enter  here,  you  must  go  back  with 
him." 

She  could  make  no  reply  to  this.  She  simply 
raised  her  rebozo  to  her  head  and  wrapped  herself  in 
it,  humbly  obeying.  To  stay  was  all  her  thought  — 
but  he  said  to  go.  It  was  nearing  dusk  and  the  hour 

4 


50  A    IW.AM   OF  A    THRONE 

had  arrived  \vlicn  the  gendarmes  of  the  day  on  the 
street  corners  were  being  changed  for  those  of  the 
night.  One  of  the  latter,  ready  for  his  watch,  passed 
them  under  the  monastery  walls,  with  his  lantern.  He 
took  his  station  at  a  corner,  and  the  other,  whom  he 
relieved,  came  walking  by. 

Vicente  had  observed  this  latter  gendarme  before, 
had  even  addressed  him  at  times.  He  was  a  very 
young  man,  probably  not  yet  twenty-one.  He  was 
a  little  over  medium  height  with  broad  shoulders, 
graceful  and  athletic  figure.  The  uniform  sat  well 
on  him. 

"  Senor !  "  called  Vicente. 

The  other  came  up.  Vicente  explained  to  him 
that  the  child,  his  sister,  had  come  with  the  fishers 
from  the  lake,  that  she  had  lost  her  way  and  that  he 
wanted  the  officer  to  take  her  back  to  the  inn.  The 
gendarme  had  won  a  secret  confidence  in  him  long 
since  by  his  quiet,  firm  doing  of  his  duty.  Clarita 
was  given  into  his  charge  and  Vicente  offered  him  a 
piece  of  money.  The  other  looked  at  it,  shrugged 
his  shoulders,  and  smiled. 

"  No,"  said  he.  "  I  dare  say  the  child  will  pay 
enough  in  herself.  Pay  for  a  pleasure  —  a  happiness 
in  the  gloom?  Ah,  not  so,  my  friend.  Come,  little 
one,  we  '11  have  you  back." 

She  turned  to  Vicente,  who  caught  her  up  again. 

"  Clarita,  I  promise  to  come.  Go  back  to  the  lake 
and  wait  for  me." 

So,  with  her  hand  in  the  gendarme's  and  her  head 
turned  round  to  her  brother's  retreating  figure,  she 
left  him. 

"  And  what  is  the  lake  like?"  asked  the  gendarme. 

She  had  said  nothing  and  not  seemed  to  know  he 
was  there.  She  looked  up  suddenly.  She  had  not 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  51 

/ 

noticed  before  that  he  was  different  from  other  men. 
His  face  was  white,  at  least  white  to  her,  though  it 
was  doubtless  tanned.  But  she  always  remembered 
it  as  white.  His  hair,  too,  where  it  could  be  seen 
under  his  gendarme's  cap,  was  not  black  and  straight. 
It  was  dark  brown  and  waving.  His  eyes  were  dark, 
though,  like  hers,  nearly  as  dark  as  Vicente's.  He 
spoke  her  language  a  little  oddly  too.  She  did  not 
know  what  it  meant  when  one  pronounced  his  words 
in  that  manner.  She  forgot  to  reply  —  thinking  again 
of  Vicente.  Vicente  would  come;  Vicente  would 
come  ! 

"  Is  the  lake  beautiful?  Are  there  mountains  there 
and  are  the  towns  big?  " 

"  Not  big  like  this,"  said  she. 

"  Mountains?  " 

Yes,  there  were  mountains. 

"  Tell  me  about  it.  What  do  you  do?  What  kind 
of  a  place?  What  do  they  call  your  town?  " 

"  Chapala.     It  is  a  little  place!" 

"  Are  the  people  all  like  you?  Ah  —  tell  me  they 
are  like  you  !  "  He  was  looking  at  her  auburn  hair. 

She  did  not  understand  this. 

"  Oh  no.  They  are  mostly  bigger,"  said  she. 
"  Fortino  is  very  big. " 

"Are  there  any  of  them  white?"  he  asked  with 
much  sudden  intensity. 

She  threw  a  quick  look  at  his  face.  There  was 
some  mystery  about  whiteness  to  her.  No,  said  she, 
Vicente  was  the  whitest  she  knew. 

"  And  what  do  you  do  there?  " 

"  They  fish  there." 

"  Are  the  nets  big  and  white,  and  are  there  boats  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes ;  they  are  very,  very  long,  and  they 
stretch  them  out  on  the'sand  to  dry  and  we  play 


52  A   DREAM    OF  A    THRONE 

out  there."  She  was  growing  interested  and  he  won 
confidence. 

"  What  do  you  play?  " 

"  Well,  if  it  is  moonlight,  while  they  fish  we  play 
on  the  sand." 

"  And  who  are  we?  " 

"  Pepa  and  I.     It  used  to  be  Vicente,  but  they  —  " 

She  could  not  speak  of  that,  and  stopped. 

"Who  is  Pepa?" 

"  She  is  another  girl." 

"  Is  her  hair  like  yours?  " 

"  No,  it  is  black.  We  wash  it  in  the  lake  on  Satur 
days,  and  we  climb  the  mountain  and  can  see  right 
down  into  the  patios  of  the  houses." 

"  Is  the  lake  very  big  and  beautiful?  " 

"  Oh  yes." 

He  sighed  deeply  and  walked  on  in  silence. 

"  Are  there  gendarmes  there?  "  said  he. 

"  Oh  there  is  a  jefe  politico  there  and  some  of  his 
men." 

Silence  again,  then : 

"  Why,"  he  muttered,  "  God  knows  it  would  suit 
me.  The  farther  away  the  better.  If  it  is  like  you, 
little  girl,  it  ought  to  be  balm  indeed.  I  think  I  can 
feel  the  breeze  and  see  the  sunset  already.  Heigh- 
ho !  to  be  where  all  is  fresh,  new,  untouched  —  and 
to  forget.  Little  girl,  you  are  so  eloquent  a  pleader 
of  your  native  shores  that  I  fain  would  go !  " 

They  came  to  the  inn. 

"  This  is  it,"  said  she  subdued,  and  started  in,  leav 
ing  him  with  no  ceremony,  afraid  of  Francisco. 

"  Good-by !  "  he  called. 

She  turned,  startled,  remembered  the  Mexican  po 
liteness,  and  came  and  shook  hands  with  him  gravely. 
His  face  was  full  of  real  regret  at  leaving  her. 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  53 

"  Good-by.  May  be  I  shall  come  to  your  lake 
sometime  and  see  you  there  —  and  how  much  better 
were  there  none  but  you  and  I !  Heigh-ho  !  Good- 
by —  and  back  to  the  shadows." 

She  remembered  him  long. 

Francisco  came  in  soon,  raving,  and  would  have 
whipped  her  had  not  liquor  rendered  his  purposes  dif 
fused.  She  ate/r//<?/£.?and  tortillas  for  supper,  as  always, 
and  went  to  bed  on  the  matting.  "  Vicente  will  come," 
said  she.  The  castles  and  wheels  of  fireworks  were 
duly  witnessed  by  her  long  since  unsteady  father  and 
by  Anastasio,  to  the  bottom  of  whom  the  liquor  had 
now  quite  descended,  much  to  his  satisfaction.  They 
woke  her  up  very  early  in  the  morning  and  the  jour 
ney  was  made  back  to  the  lake  as  it  had  been  made 
to  the  city.  And  all  the  way,  jogging  along  perched 
between  the  empty  baskets  on  the  burro's  back,  she 
said, "  Vicente  is  coming."  They  arrived  at  Chapala  at 
night  and  she  was  tired  and  sleepy  and  went  to  sleep 
on  the  earthen  floor.  Francisco,  Anastasio,  and  the 
other  fishermen  counted  the  money  by  candle  light. 
There  was  not  much  more  than  half  of  it  left.  But 
then,  yesterday  was  a  feast  day;  and  the  half  was  re 
ceived  sympathetically. 

As  for  Vicente,  his  purpose  was  formed.  He 
stated  his  case  plainly  to  the  prior,  and,  partly 
because  of  the  imperiousness  of  his  demand,  partly 
because  it  accorded  with  the  prior's  intentions,  won 
the  necessary  consent.  He  was  nineteen  years  of  age. 
He  had  received  what  was  considered,  at  that  time 
and  in  that  region,  a  good  education.  He  had  read 
much.  He  had  thought  more.  He  had  grown  in 
more  ways  than  one. 

The  next  morning,  with  the  very  money  in  his 
pocket  the  hermit  had  given  him  (for  he  had  spent 


54  A   DREAM    OF  A    THRONE 

almost  none  of  it)  with  the  understanding  that  his 
connection  with  the  monastery  continued  through 
the  Chapala  priest,  and  that  through  that  circuit 
more  money  could  be  drawn,  Vicente,  dressed  in  the 
clothes  of  the  middle  classes  and  not  of  the  monk, 
rode  out  of  the  city  and  took  the  stony  way  to  the 
mountain  lake. 


CHAPTER  V 

OUT  of  the  rocky  hills  that  lie  back  of  Tizapan 
on  the  lake's  southern  side,  used  to  come  in 
those  days,  to  Chapala,  a  young  man  of  a  cold,  pierc 
ing  eye,  pointed  moustaches,  and  quick,  silent  tread 
like  the  tread  of  a  cat.  He  was  no  peon.  He  had 
a  widowed  mother  in  Tizapan  who  might  have  been 
called  not  far  from  wealthy.  She  gave  him  some 
fruit  groves  in  the  hills  and  tried  to  tame  and  make 
something  out  of  him  by  letting  him  manage  them., 
The  biggest  market  on  the  lake  in  those  days  was 
the  Chapala  market  on  the  northern  shore.  So  she 
bought  him  two  canoas,  and  every  Saturday  afternoon 
his  peons  loaded  them  with  fruit  and,  if  he  chose 
(and  he  generally  did,  for  he  loved  the  water),  he 
came  with  them,  an  all  night's  sail  across  the  lake, 
to  sell  on  Sunday  morning. 

Being  of  a  wild  turn  he  had  known  the  whole  lake 
and  the  mountains  that  surrounded  it  since  he  was 
able  to  row  and  stick  to  a  horse.  He  knew  too  much 
of  it.  He  had  a  passion  for  gambling  and  came 
home  many  a  time  in  his  youth  without  his  horse, 
and  not  infrequently  with  two  or  three.  He  ran  off 
at  eighteen  years  of  age  to  Guadalajara  with  several 
hundred  dollars  he  had  scraped  together.  He  learned 
all  the  games  there,  and  though  he  lost  nearly  all  his 
money  learning  them,  he  was  a  sufficiently  apt  pupil 
to  win  it  back  again.  He  went  to  Mexico  City  too. 
What  times  he  had  had  there  nobody  knew.  After 


56  A    DREAM  OF  A    TlfRONE 

some  months  Doroteo  Quiroz  came  wandering  home 
without  anything.  But  he  had  acquired  that  cat-like 
tread,  his  ever  ready  manner,  and  a  new  daring.  He 
took  great  pride  in  having  the  gambler's  honor.  But 
he  said,  with  a  sigh,  that  gambling  was  a  ruinous 
business  and  he  was  going  to  raise  fruit.  He  did 
raise  fruit;  but  he  set  up  a  roulette  table  in  Tizapan, 
too,  and  taught  other  people  to  play.  His  eyes,  at 
twenty-two,  had  that  cold,  strained,  yet  often  attrac 
tive  lustre  that  comes  into  the  eyes  of  the  gamester 
who  has  seen  wild  times.  He  was  grown  to  be  dis 
tinctly  handsome. 

On  a  certain  Sunday  morning  in  summer  Doroteo's 
two  flat-bottomed  craft,  with  single  square  sails 
spread  to  a  bulging  breeze,  came  sailing  across  the 
lake.  They  had  weathered  a  storm  all  night,  such 
a  storm  as  only  the  Chapala  rainy  season  can 
evolve.  The  winds  and  the  rain  had  beaten  them, 
and  the  waves  had  cast  them  about,  while  streaks 
of  lightning  tore  the  sky.  Doroteo  had  been  in  it 
all,  save  when  the  rain  was  hardest,  high  up  on  the 
stern,  and  had  sung  a  falsetto  air  to  the  thunders. 
The  sun  was  out  radiant  now,  the  sails  glistened  dry 
ing,  steam  rose  from  the  wet  planks  and  the  piles  of 
yellow  fruit  on  the  bottom,  and  the  waves  rocked 
gently.  Chapala's  white,  twin  church  towers  rose 
glistening  before,  under  St.  Michael's  stony  head, 
and  Tizapan  was  not  even  a  speck  away  across  the 
water  to  the  rear. 

"  Down  with  the  sails,  boys,  and  up  with  the 
poles  !  "  cried  Quiroz  ;  and  then  he  sang  softly  : 

"  The  game  was  sweet,  the  game  was  swift, 
And  deft  that  black-eyed  Spanish  girl. 
She  staked  her  love  upon  the  red  — 
I  won  it  fair  at  every  whirl. 
She  would  not  give  it  me  1  " 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  57 

He  was  leaning  on  the  bow  of  the  larger  vessel, 
and  the  larger  vessel's  name  was  the  "  Goddess 
Venus,"  painted  in  black  letters  across  the  sail.  He 
wore  one  of  those  rich  sombreros  that  characterize 
the  Mexican  gentleman  of  the  country  districts.  Its 
silver  bands  glistened  and  its  wide  brim  was  em 
broidered  in  golden  threads.  He  wore,  too,  tight 
trousers  of  a  fine,  soft  leather,  with  silver  buttons 
linked  with  silver  chains  down  the  sides  to  his  feet, 
and  above,  a  short  brown  jacket  of  the  same  material. 

The  sails  came  flapping  down,  and  the  sailors,  with 
their  white  cotton  drawers  rolled  to  their  hips,  and 
their  brown  legs  glistening,  walked  slowly  back  ari% 
forth  on  the  boats'  upper  ledges,  poling  the  awkward 
vessels  to  the  shore.  The  smaller  of  the  two,  called 
"  The  Delirium,"  was  brought  thus  quite  to  the 
sandy  beach,  stern  first.  The  other  was  too  heavily 
laden  and  was  halted  some  yards  out. 

"  Now,  out  with  you,  boys,"  cried  the  owner,  "  and 
carry  me." 

Two  peons  leaped  overboard,  and  the  water  rose 
to  their  hips.  One  of  them  took  the  rope  of  the 
boat;  the  other  received  Doroteo's  form  on  broad 
shoulders  and  waded  with  him  to  the  stretch  of  sand, 
where  he  put  him  down.  The  stern  of  the  "  God 
dess  "  was  drawn,  by  means  of  the  rope,  to  the  prow 
of  the  "  Delirium,"  and  a  means  thus  formed  of  un 
loading  her  cargo,  using  the  smaller  canoa  as  a 
bridge.  There  were  other  canoas  tossing  about, 
some  at  the  shore,  some  anchored  far  out,  some  sail 
ing  in  or  sailing  away,  each  with  its  one  square  can 
vas  glistening.  These  boats  are  from  twenty-five  to 
sixty  feet  in  length,  part  of  each  being  covered  with 
a  thatched  roof.  There  is  one  mast.  Up  and  down 
the  rugged  path  that  led  past  the  satati-tree  into  the 


58  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

street,  and  thence  to  the  market-place,  workmen  and 
strollers  passed  and  repassed,  and  the  fruits  of  a 
hundred  kinds  of  trees  and  the  vegetables  of  many 
strange  plants,  the  charcoal  of  distant  fires  and  the 
wood  and  stone  of  distant  mountains,  went  labori 
ously  thither. 

"  Good  morning!  Good  morning,  Don  Doroteo  !  " 
cried  a  voice. 

He  had  scarcely  been  set  down.  He  turned  to 
find  at  his  elbow  a  slender  girl  of  fifteen  years  of  age. 

"Pepa!  "  he  cried,  letting  his  gaze  wander  slowly 
over  her  body,  a  body  coming  to  maturity  with  re 
markable  swiftness.  "  Why,  she  's  a  woman.  Eyes 
of  me  —  she  's  grown  !  Dios  !  let  her  grow  an  hour 
more  and  she  's  Venus  herself.  How  in  beauty's 
name  did  you  do  it  so  quickly? 

"  She  staked  her  love  upon  the  red  — 
I  Ml  win  it  straight  at  every  whirl  1  " 

"No;  it  is  promised,"  she  said,  demurely.  She 
wore  a  red  dress.  She  clapped  her  hands  in  a  spon 
taneous  exuberance  of  spirits  and  cried  it  repeatedly. 
"  It  is  promised  —  it  is  promised  !  " 

"Promised?  Faith,  you  begin  early.  Promise  at 
fifteen,  break  it  at  sixteen.  To  whom?" 

His  men  were  unloading  the  fruit.  They  had  piled 
bags  of  oranges  on  the  sand.  She  sat  down  on  them, 
and  talked  teasingly: 

"  To  a  man.  To  the  handsomest  man.  To  one 
who  has  seen  everything  that  there  is." 

Quiroz's  eyes  were  shinir.g  and  his  moustaches  were 
sticking  out  with  extreme  pointedness,  his  whole 
handsome  face  showing  a  scarcely  tamed  interest 
in  her. 

"  He  has  been,  too,  to  strange  places,"  she  con- 


A  DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  59 

tinued,  her  black  eyes  dancing.     "  He  is    going  to 
wake  up  the  world." 

"  Good  !  "  said  Doroteo.  "  And  neither  the  world 
nor  he  will  sleep  again,  I  '11  wager  them  on  that,  if 
Pepa  Aranja  is  a  part  of  the  play." 

There  was  something  half  mocking  in  his  tone,  and 
he  smiled  at  her  with  his  lips  shut,  and  then  made  a 
dash  at  her,  and  would  have  had  her  hand,  but  she 
leaped  up  and  stood  on  top  of  the  farthest  bag  of 
oranges.  The  workmen  were  surrounding  her  with 
mangos  and  tunas. 

"  Touch  me  if  you  dare,"  cried  she  triumphantly, 
straightening  herself  up,  "  and  I  shall  jump  into  your 
tunas."  The  morning  breeze  was  blowing  her  hair 
and  her  skirts  about  her.  There  was  red  blood  in 
her  dark  face.  She  was  all  life,  all  motion.  She  an 
swered  his  smile  then  with  a  dazzling  one  of  her  own, 
a  smile  such  as  one  might  travel  a  thousand  miles 
and  never  see  again ;  and  she  followed  it  with  a  ring 
ing  laugh,  and  tossed  her  head.  "  Oh  —  when  we 
get  it  awake,  we  can  keep  it  awake !  "  she  cried. 

"  Jump  into  the  tunas  if  you  wish,"  said  he,  step 
ping  slowly  nearer  her  and  speaking  low,  "  but  tell 
me  about  him.  Holy  Mary !  I  may  want  you  my 
self!  You  are  so  alive.  Who  is  he?  " 

"  Don't  you  know?  He  went  away  five  years  ago, 
in  the  night.  He  came  back  last  spring.  He  's  been 
all  over  and  all  round  the  lake  since  then.  You  know 
him !  " 

"  Ah,"  said  Quiroz,  with  much  satisfaction.  "  Vi 
cente.  And  fortune  goes  with  him."  His  eyes 
dilated,  and  he  came  close  and  whispered.  "  Are 
you  in  this  big  game,  too?  By  the  mass,  I  believe 
you  're  capable  of  secrets  and  schemes,  and  the  Lord 
knows  what,  young  as  you  are.  Come.  Maybe  I  'm 


60  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

in  it  too.  What  do  you  know  —  that  he  is  going  to 
be  —  what?  " 

She  grew  suddenly  long  faced. 

"  I  am  not  that  kind  —  to  go  telling  it,"  she  said, 
solemnly. 

"  Pooh  !  I  know  it  all  —  and  more.  He  has  been 
in  every  town  since  his  return,  on  all  the  lake's  shores, 
and  beyond.  Do  you  fancy  I  have  n't  seen  him, 
talked  to  him,  and  offered  my  humble  services?  And 
when  he  begins  —  oh,  Pepa  knows  it  all,  eh?  —  Pepa 
only !  And  when  he  begins,  and  the  wheel  spins, 
Doroteo's  future  will  be  staked  as  well !  " 

She  was  wide-eyed  at  this. 

"  So,"  said  she,  "  you  know  it,  too  !  " 

"  Why,  I  can  hold  my  tongue.  He  told  me  of  you. 
Doroteo  is  reckless.  Doroteo  is  bold.  He  has  seen 
the  world  —  ha  !  ha  !  And  the  game  goes  on  mer 
rily  when  he  spins  the  wheel.  These  things  Vicente 
knows,  and  Doroteo's  knowledge  of  the  people  and 
the  lake,  sit  and  his  boldness,  senorita !  Compared 
to  Vicente  and  —  your  servant,  all  other  men  are  — 
cows !  " 

He  whispered  it  full  of  scorn. 

"  And  maybe,"  continued  he,  "  Doroteo,  too,  is 
promised  to  be  in  at  the  waking  of  the  world  !  " 

His  face  held  a  secretive,  half  fierce  expression. 
He  twirled  his  moustaches. 

"  Dios  !  "  he  cried,  "  to  think  a  girl  of  fifteen  should 
be  a  woman  —  and  an  oriental  beauty  !  " 

Anyone  but  Pepa  would  have  hated  his  gaze.  She 
laughed  at  him  bewitchingly. 

"  He  will  be  coming  back  to  Chapala  to-day,"  she 
cried.  "And  when  he  comes — ah,"  looking  the 
while  into  Doroteo's  eyes  mischievously,  "  compared 
to  him  all  oilier  men  are —  cows  !  "  She  laughed 


A   DREAM    OF  A    THRONE  61 

again  in  ringing  glee,  and  clapped  her  hands,  and 
skipped  on  the  orange  bags.  He  sprang  toward 
her. 

"  Little  witch  !  "  cried  he,  his  eyes  flaming,  "  I  '11 
have  a  kiss  out  of  those  red  lips  for  that !  " 

She  was  too  quick  for  him.  She  leaped  from  the 
orange  bags  to  one  of  mangos,  and  skipped  a  little 
again,  flushed  and  with  flashing  eyes.  He  was  after 
her  there,  too,  and  she  sprang  up  to  the  low  bow  of 
the  "  Delirium,"  and  laughed  at  him  and  stuck  out  her 
lips.  He  was  up  in  an  instant,  making  the  single 
high  leap  from  the  ground,  strong  and  swift.  But 
her  black  hair,  flying  free,  disappeared  within  under 
the  thatched  roof,  and  her  feet  made  a  thud  on  the 
boat's  flat  bottom.  She  was  scrambling  over  the 
piles  of  yellow  and  red  fruit,  shouting  to  him  to  come 
on,  nigh  knocking  the  peons  against  the  vessel's  sides ; 
and  he  was  after  her  in  hot  pursuit.  She  emerged 
from  under  the  thatch  near  the  boat's  pointed  prow, 
and  climbed  to  the  boarded  space  across  the  front. 
On  this  elevated  stage  over  the  water  she  had  a  mo 
ment  to  turn  and  laugh  at  him.  Then  she  jumped 
across  the  open  between  the  vessels,  and  was  high  up 
on  the  lofty  stern  of  the  "  Goddess  Venus." 

le  I  won  it  fair  at  every  whirl. 
She  would  not  give  it  me ! " 

she  sang  breathless. 

He  was  there  too,  and  they  scrambled  under  the 
second  thatched  roof.  She  stood  at  last  higher  yet 
on  the  slanting  prow  of  the  "  Goddess."  The  waters 
rose  and  fell,  sun-lit,  under  her,  and  there  was  no 
retreat.  She  was  flushed  to  her  forehead,  and  put 
out  her  lips  to  him  temptingly  again,  as  he  came  on. 
He  thought  he  had  her  then,  but  he  did  not  know 


67  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

her.  He  was  jumping  up  to  her  exalted  perch,  when 
she  disappeared  over  the  side.  There  was  a  little 
shriek  and  a  splash,  and  he  saw  a  red  flash  swimming 
away  to  the  shore.  She  was  out  on  the  sand,  laugh 
ing  and  shouting  defiance  to  him  and  running  away, 
dripping  with  her  soiled  garments  clinging  round 
lithe  limbs.  She  was  gone  in  the  upper  street,  and 
he  lacked  his  kiss. 

Vicente  was  indeed,  at  that  very  time,  riding  out  of 
Ajicjic,  a  village  on  the  shore  to  the  west.  An  hour 
later  he  appeared  in  Chapala,  and,  shut  with  Quiroz 
in  a  room  of  the  meson,  held  a  conference  with  that 
active  gamester,  whom  he  had  long  known  as  daring 
and  intelligent,  and  whom  he  had  chosen  for  those 
qualities,  believing  the  gaming  instinct  would  be  no 
detriment  in  the  day  of  hazardous  deeds.  It  was 
then  revealed  to  Quiroz,  not  altogether  to  his  satis 
faction,  that  the  time  was  not  at  hand.  It  was  Vi 
cente's  decision  that  some  years  must  yet  go  by 
before  the  blow  should  be  struck.  So  the  two  sep 
arated,  carrying  with  them  certain  differing  images 
of  the  yet  distant  future. 

As  for  Clarita,  Vicente  had  done  all  in  his  power 
to  better  her  lonely  condition.  He  had  been  with 
her  as  much  as  possible,  but  this  was  little.  He  had 
expostulated  with  and  threatened  Francisco  in  behalf 
of  a  kinder  treatment,  and  had  finally  accomplished 
something  by  combining  these  means  with  money. 
He  had,  too,  found  a  woman  who  would  look  a  little 
after  the  child,  for  the  interest  of  Pepa's  mother  had 
been  enlisted  more  strongly  in  Clarita's  favor.  But 
the  child  was  not  happy  unless  Vicente  were  there. 
The  veil  of  sadness  that  nature  and  circumstances  had 
cast  over  her  from  birth,  would  not  lift,  save  in  his 
presence,  and  even  then  it  was  not  so  much  a  lifting 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  63 

of  it  as  a  rendering  it  sweet.  Vicente  had  come,  and 
she  was  more  nearly  happy ;  she  dreaded  thinking 
of  the  time  when  he  should  again  leave  her  for  a  long 
period.  She  studied  diligently  these  days,  and  when 
Vicente  was  there  she  doubled  her  lessons,  being 
taught  by  the  priest  and  her  brother  too.  She  never 
considered  him  other  than  her  brother. 

And  the  day  must  come  when  he  would  indeed 
leave  her  again  for  long.  He  passed  all  these 
months  in  a  careful  study  of  the  people,  the  country 
of  the  lake  region,  the  towns,  the  mountains.  He 
was,  for  weeks,  unheard  of,  being  yonder  on  the 
southern  border,  or  in  the  western  hills,  or  high  up 
among  the  mountain  planters.  He  learned  the 
people's  thoughts,  their  ways,  and  the  gauge  of  their 
intelligence.  He  carried  with  him  a  manner  and  a 
mind  serious,  thoughtful,  full  of  the  time  to  come. 
He  was  received  everywhere  by  the  clergy,  and 
taught  and  encouraged  —  must  it  be  said  ?  —  even 
blinded  by  them.  They  helped  him  calculate  the 
power  of  the  springs  that  would  move  the  people. 
They  showed  him  the  effects  of  past  revolutions,  the 
failure  of  them,  the  lack  of  a  deep  movement  which 
the  church  alone  could  arouse.  He  grew  sad  at  the 
spectacle  of  his  unhappy  land.  He  fed  on  dreams  of 
the  dead  ages  when  his  own  blood  made  an  empire 
here,  on  hopes  of  the  future  when  he  should  establish 
a  thing  true  and  strong  in  the  instability  of  this 
national  falsehood. 

His  thoughts  and  feelings  deepened  and  his  char 
acter  expanded.  The  one  defect  lay  in  the  very 
basis  of  his  enthusiasm.  The  church  that  called 
him,  as  it  were,  into  being,  inevitably  cast  over  his 
mind  that  shade  of  the  dreamer,  the  ascetic,  even  the 
fanatic,  which  the  intense  reality  of  a  deed  such  as 


64  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

he  contemplated  could  not  brook.  That  the  cloister 
is  not  the  best  propagator  of  strong  practical  deeds 
history  plainly  shows.  Where  the  church  has  won 
in  politics  she  has  done  so  by  abandoning  the  influ 
ence  of  the  cloister.  On  this  young  soul,  filled  with 
a  towering  earnestness,  the  effect  of  his  surroundings 
and  the  power  that  backed  him  was  not  conducive 
to  the  highest  strength.  His  enthusiasm  took  the 
color  of  his  dreams,  his  hopes  became  visions. 

His  brain  held,  burned  into  it,  the  picture  of  the 
cell  to  which,  so  many  years  ago,  he  had  been  taken, 
of  its  occupant,  and  of  the  stony  coast  whose  waves 
and  rocks  were  always,  in  his  mind,  associated  with 
night.  But  he  made  no  inquiries.  He  recalled  his 
promise  and  the  hermit's  anxiety  in  exacting  it.  He 
respected  that  anxiety.  Yet  he  could  not  be  blind. 
The  existence  of  such  a  spot  as  that  to  which  he  had 
been  led  could  not  be  altogether  unknown  to  all  people. 
Thus,  whether  he  would  or  not,  he  was  brought 
to  a  half  knowledge  of  its  location.  Time  going  on, 
though  he  would  not  search  or  inquire,  he  believed 
he  knew  where  the  hermit  buried  himself. 

The  year  rolled  round,  the  seed  was  springing  up 
indeed.  There  were  seemingly  great  forces  at  work 
in  silence  for  him.  But  he  must  acquire  more 
knowledge  and  more  power  and  the  time  must  ripen. 
There  came  a  day  in  another  spring  when  the  mon 
astery  walls  once  more  shut  him  in. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  exaggerate  any  account  of 
the  disturbances  of  this  young  land,  which,  in  the 
first  half  of  this  century  and  later,  seemed  to  have 
gone  mad.  No  historian  has  done  full  justice,  if 
indeed  any  has  tried,  to  the  throes  and  paroxysms 
she  passed  through  in  that  short  term  of  years 
between  the  victories  of  Hidalgo  and  the  fall  of 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  65 

the  French.  In  1836  Spain  finally  acknowledged  the 
independence  of  her  embroiled  and  bitter  whilom 
colony  after  a  virtual  independence  of  no  inconsider 
able  age.  But  to  a  casual  observer  in  those  times  it 
must  have  seemed  that  such  success  served  only  to 
add  to  the  unhappy  state. 

In  1838  France  bombarded  Vera  Cruz  in  the  inter 
est  of  the  celebrated  Pie  Claim.  The  noise  of 
that  bombardment  found  discordant  sounds  enough 
throughout  the  land  to  answer  it.  During  those  days 
a  new  constitution  was  being  forced  on  the  people ; 
and  a  new  constitution  meant  revolution  after  revo 
lution.  When  the  matter  with  the  French  was  set 
tled  the  noise  was  found  to  continue  from  within 
more  deafening  than  it  had  been  round  the  walls  of 
Ulua.  To  follow  the  changes  and  unravel  the  skein 
of  events  were  useless,  if  not  impossible.  In  1839 
General  Mejia  fell  into  the  power  of  that  formidable 
Santa  Anna.  About  the  same  time  other  sections  of 
the  land  rose  up,  crying  for  a  new  republic,  unsatis 
fied  with  the  one  that  as  yet  had  had  scarce  time  to 
breathe.  "  A  new  republic,"  cried  they,  "  called  no 
more  Mexico ;  let  it  be  named  Sierra  Madre." 
Sierra  Madre  went  down,  a  wreck.  In  1840  Gutierrez 
de  Estrada  wrote  pointing  out  the  alleged  impossi 
bility  of  a  republic  at  all.  He  despaired ;  he  called 
for  and  urged  the  plan  of  an  empire.  He  was  ban 
ished  and  his  exile  paid  for  the  hazardous  views  he 
held.  Bustamente  was.  president  then ;  he  was  so 
till  1841.  In  that  year  that  rugged-souled  old  fighter, 
Santa  Anna,  in  a  revolution  founded  on  the  plan  of 
Tacubaya,  deposed  him.  Europe  was  Bustamente's 
asylum.  Echeverria  was  president  for  a  few  crazy 
days.  He  could  hold  the  seat  no  longer,  for  Santa 
Anna,  with  arms  to  back  him,  took  it  for  himself. 

5 


66  A   DREAM    OF  A    THROW 

In  1843  Bravo's  Junta  de  Notables  decreed  yet 
another  new  constitution,  and  the  trouble  grew  worse. 
By  that  constitution  Santa  Anna  was  made  far  more 
absolute  than  is  compatible  with  the  name  of  pres 
ident.  Rebellion  was  rampant;  it  seemed  every 
corner  of  the  land  would  rise  up  in  its  own  half- 
organized  revolt.  In  1 844  the  city  of  Guadalajara  pre 
sented  a  formidable  array  of  armed  denial.  The 
waves  of  that  disturbance  spread  in  all  directions. 
Even  the  regions  of  the  lake  felt  the  heavings  of  pop 
ular  indignation  ;  and  some  out  of  those  quiet  fishing 
huts  went  forth  to  skirmish  and  to  die  in  the  city's 
streets.  Santa  Anna  came  in  person  and  the  Jalisco 
revolt  was  with  trouble  crushed.  The  time  was  fast 
coming  when  that  old  despot  would  see  his  powers 
on  the  wane.  Returning  to  his  capital  he  found  the 
nation,  that  had  seemed  to  shudder  at  his  gorgon 
gaze,  in  arms  against  him.  After  his  fall  Herrera, 
for  one  short  year,  held  his  seat.  But  it  was  many 
years  yet  before  the  tenacious  Santa  Anna,  bandied 
about  by  innumerable  events,  and  rising  and  falling 
with  them,  had  at  last  to  acknowledge  in  his  crippled 
age  that  his  power  was  grown  as  rotten  as  his  body. 
During  Herrera's  regime  the  war-clouds  of  another 
country,  a  great  and  formidable  country  to  the 
north,  began  to  blow  black  over  the  Rio  Grande. 

Of  those  from  the  lake  who  participated  in  the 
Guadalajara  insurrection  in  1844,  was  the  chief  of 
police  of  the  Chapala  canton,  an  officer  called  in 
Mexico  jcfe  politico,  head  of  the  gendarmes  of  one 
of  the  sections  into  which  the  states  are  divided.  He 
was  a  hard -boned,  gray-headed  old  man.  When  the 
trouble  grew  hottest  the  governor  had  called  him  and 
his  men  to  aid  the  state  troops,  such  as  there  were. 
He  had  gone  with  fire  in  his  eye,  riding  out  hotly 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  67 

one  night  at  dusk  toward  the  city.  He  had  got  the 
worst  of  it,  and  three  weeks  later,  when  the  revolt 
was  crushed,  they  came  carrying  him  home  to  the 
lake  on  a  canvas  cot,  whereon  he  raved  and  tore 
his  hair  in  a  delirium.  He  died  while  they  were 
crossing  the  stony  market  square  of  his  town  of 
Chapala. 

He  who  came  to  take  the  place  of  the  fallen  chief 
was  that  same  gendarme  who  had  long  before  led 
Clarita  back  to  the  inn.  He  rode  into  the  town  at 
night.  He  appeared  the  very  next  morning  striding 
along  the  beach  surveying  his  ground,  an  athletic 
figure  whose  step  was  the  step  of  youth  and  alacrity. 
Pistols  hung  at  his  belt  and  a  spur  clinked  on  his  heel. 
It  was  then  he  found  Clarita  sitting  in  the  hut's  door 
reading  a  book.  In  spite  of  the  years  the  recognition 
was  immediate. 

"  I  have  found  you  at  last !  "  cried  he  in  frank  de 
light.  "  And  all  the  way  I  wondered,  is  the  little  one 
still  here  !  " 

She  was  fifteen  years  of  age,  and  yet  a  child.  She 
arose  with  modest  blushes  and  held  out  her  hand. 
She  saw  again  the  color  of  his  face,  unusual  to  her. 
She  noticed,  too,  that  if  his  speech  had  had  in  it  be 
fore  a  foreign  accent,  it  had  lost  it  now. 

"  Thank  you,  senor,  for  taking  me,"  she  replied. 
"  It  was  very  good  of  you." 

"  Books  !  "  said  he.  "  I  come  and  find  you  reading 
a  book,  and  here  among  fishing  boats.  What  fairy 
land  am  I  to  be  master  of?" 

"  It  is  a  book  Vicente  sent  me,"  said  she.  "  It  is 
about  Rome  and  Hannibal,  and  how  he  crossed  the 
Alps,  and  the  battle  of  Cannae.  So  many  things,'* 
she  sighed,  absently  smoothing  the  mesh  of  her  shin 
ing  hair,  "  seem  to  have  happened  in  the  world." 


68  A  DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

"  Many  more  than  you  dream,  little  one,  and  many 
that  it  were  well  you  dream  not." 

There  were  suddenly  heard  the  thuds  of  a  horse's 
feet  and  a  high-spirited  steed  burst  on  the  new 
comer's  view,  scattering  sand  from  its  hoofs.  It 
pranced  along  the  beach  to  Clarita's  hut,  bearing 
Pepa  on  its  back  —  Pepa  grown  older,  more  beauti 
ful,  resplendent  now  in  many  colors,  her  blue  skirt 
scarcely  hiding  the  black-stockinged  ankle  at  the 
side-saddle's  stirrup.  She  flashed  a  laughing  eye  at 
Clarita  and  called  to  her  and  checked  her  steed. 

"  Another  of  my  subjects,"  said  the  new-comer  to 
himself.  "  Perhaps,  after  all,  it  may  not  be  quiet 
enough  here  for  a  recluse  like  you,  Don  Rodrigo. 
A  fine  horse,"  he  added  aloud.  "  A  remarkably 
fine  horse.  But  tell  me,  my  never-forgotten  little 
friend,"  turning  to  Clarita,  "how  it  has  been  with 
you  since  I  saw  you  so  long  ago  and  you  told  me  of 
your  land  so  that  I  fain  would  have  come  to  it  with 
you?  " 

"  And  why,  senor,  have  you  come  at  last?  " 

"  Did  I  not  tell  you  your  pleading  for  your  native 
shore  must  draw  me  away?" 

"  Oh,  senor,  I  am  sure  it  was  another  reason." 

Pepa,  unnoticed,  restless  on  that  account,  colored 
high  at  this  neglect.  She  would  not  seem  to  care  or 
listen,  not  she.  Yet  she  knew  she  strained  her  cars  lest 
the  sound  of  the  light  morning  waves  drown  the  words 
of  him  who  had  dared  to  see  only  her  horse!  She 
knew  that  white  man  was  somehow  different  from  her 
race.  She  felt,  the  first  time  in  her  life,  that  here  was 
one  with  whom  she  would  not  dare  to  romp  and 
flirt. 

"  The  reason  was  chiefly  that,  I  give  you  my  honor 
on  it,"  said  Rodrigo.  "I  remembered  you  always; 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  69 

and  I  wanted  to  get  away,  being  a  roving  sort  of 
youth  and  not  liking  it  there,  nor  anywhere  else  very 
much.  And  I  could  smell  these  waters  and  see  the 
mountains,  my  honor  on  it,  little  one,  from  the  very 
eloquence  of  your  speech.  And  I  said  it  would  suit 
me.  Then  we  had  wars  and  troubles  in  Guadalajara 
—  though  not  like  Hannibal  and  Rome,  Heaven  save 
us  !  And  I  'm  afraid  I  killed  somebody  at  one  time. 
At  least  I,  with  others,  shot  at  a  mob,  and  some  of 
them  died.  It  happened  that  the  life  of  the  governor, 
who  was  a  friend  of  mine,  was  saved  by  that  shooting. 
He  would  insist  that  I  had  done  a  good  thing,  though 
it  had  been  only  to  kill  people,  and,  heigh-ho  !  little 
girl,  killing  people  is  n't  a  good  thing.  Well,  in  spite 
of  me  he  would  reward  me ;  and  then  it  chanced  that 
your  jefe  politico  here  was  killed." 

"  Ah,  I  know  about  that,"  said  Clarita  gravely. 

"  Well,  remembering  your  eloquence,  I  said  to  the 
governor,  '  Make  me  \hzjefe  politico  of  Chapala.'  And 
he  did  it." 

"  Oh !  "  cried  she  in  delight,  suppressed  with  timid 
ity,  being  ignorant  of  the  times  to  come  as  was  he, 
"  you  are  the  new /<?/<?/  I  am  so  glad  !  I  know  you 
will  take  good  care  of  us,  senor." 

"  Good-by,  Clarita  !  "  Pepa  was  calling,  tossing  her 
head  and  dancing  two  middle  fingers  at  the  girl  on 
the  ground,  and  letting  her  impatient  steed  move 
away.  "  I  had  something  to  tell  —  never  mind  — 
another  day !  " 

"I  too  am  going  in  that  direction,"  said  Rodrigo. 
"  Good-by,  little  one ;  I  will  see  you  many  times." 

Pepa  did  not  make  her  horse  go  very  swiftly ; 
neither  did  she  look  at  the  jefe,  who  overtook  her  and 
walked  at  her  side  along  the  beach. 

"  Yes,"   said    he,  never    looking   higher   than   the 


7o  A   DREAM   OF  A    THRONE 

beast's  neck,  "  a  remarkable  horse.  Now  how  much 
would  you  say  that  horse  is  worth  ? " 

"Enough,"  said  she  shortly.     "  But  I  got  it." 

Her  family  was  not  of  the  common  classes.  Her 
widowed  mother  at  the  meson  had  been  the  wife  of 
no  peon  and  the  inn  itself  was  no  common,  dirty  fonda. 
There  was  money  in  the  family,  as  there  is  to  this  day 
in  many  a  secluded  Mexican  family  which  gives  no 
outer  demonstration  of  it.  Pepa  had  wanted  the 
horse.  Alas !  she  would  have  created  trouble  for 
some  one  had  she  failed  to  secure  it. 

"  Oh,  it  is  yours?  "  said  he. 

"  Of  course,"  haughtily  piqued  at  the  exclusiveness 
of  his  interest. 

"  Then  I  should  like  to  buy  him.  I  have  to  buy 
several  in  fact.  Now  what  would  you  take  for  your 
horse?  I  nearly  killed  my  best  one  coming  here  so 
fast." 

"  And  why,  seiior,  did  you,  a  foreigner,  come 
here?" 

"  Call  me  not  that,"  he  replied,  plucking  a  fig  from 
the  salati  to  which  they  had  arrived.  "My  soul  is 
your  country's  soul,  seiiorita.  Well,"  musingly,  "  you 
see  how  the  waves  come  beating  in  and  kill  them 
selves  in  that  foolish  way.  They  commit  suicide  thus. 
It  chances  that  in  the  land  from  which  I  came  men 
sometimes  want  to  do  likewise.  And  if  they  arc  not 
bold  enough  —  they  like  to  come  to  places  where  it 
is  lonely." 

She  made  no  reply.  She  only  looked  at  him.  The 
life  of  Josefa  Aranja  had  this  day  come  to  a  new  path. 
After  a  moment  she  turned  her  horse's  head  abruptly 
and  rode  slowly  away  toward  the  street. 

"  Adios,  senor,"  said  she. 

"  And  you  will  not  sell  your  horse?  " 


A  DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  71 

Had  he,  then,  seen  nothing,  nothing  but  the  horse? 
She  went  on  into  the  town.  Pepita  was  dreamy  till 
nightfall. 

There  came  other  days,  and  many  of  them,  wherein 
he  saw  her  plainly  enough,  and  made  no  secret 
of  it;  wherein,  too,  he  grew  to  know  her  as  did  no 
other. 

Clarita  also  he  saw,  and  in  time  learned  the  great 
difference  between  her  of  the  high  spirit  and  this 
quieter  one. 

The  two  had  scarcely  left  the  latter  when  a  mozo 
from  the  church  came  bringing  her  a  letter.  All  her 
communication  with  Vicente  was  through  the  priest. 
She  eagerly  seized  it.  There  was  no  other  thing  in 
her  life  that  brought  her  a  pleasure  such  as  came 
with  these  letters,  save  the  coming  of  Vicente  him 
self;  and,  since  that  year  he  had  spent  about  the 
lake,  he  had  come  but  once,  eight  months  before  the 
writing  of  this  epistle.  He  had  stayed  three  weeks 
then  and  returned.  It  was  a  serious  letter,  couched 
in  the  terms  of  his  own  mood.  Wrapped  in  a  sweet 
delight,  she  read  as  follows : 

LITTLE  SISTER,  —  I  ought  to  write  happily  to  you,  re 
membering  that  you  are  a  child.  The  letter  should  be 
bright.  But  you  have  never,  Clarita,  seemed  quite  a  child 
to  me.  Whether  it  is  that  I,  weighted  as  I  am  with  the 
purpose  you  know,  have  oppressed  you,  —  no,  I  am  sure 
you  will  not  say  this  is  it.  It  is  because  your  spirit  is  older 
than  your  body.  So  I  never  feel  that  I  must  write  myself 
to  you  other  than  I  am.  And  for  one  with  that  before  him 
that  I  have  before  me,  to  call  himself  happy  were  folly. 
Yet  I  am  not  repining.  My  hopes  are  high.  But  you  will 
understand  how  the  lightness  of  boyhood  must  now  long 
since  have  passed  from  me. 

Clarita,  it  is  a  strange  thing,  this  that  I  have  to  do,  and 


72  A   DREAM    O2'  A    THRONE 

a  very  great  one.  The  unhappy  state  of  our  people  works 
unhappiness  in  me.  I  am  overcome,  at  times,  contemplat 
ing  the  little  that  they  have,  the  very  much  that  they  need. 
Since  I  last  wrote  to  you  I  have  been  away.  I  went  to 
Mexico  City  that  I  might  see  the  heart  of  the  country.  It 
is  a  troubled  heart.  Even  its  own  beatings  it  knows  not. 
It  is  war  and  tyranny  and  selfishness  —  selfishness  always. 
The  land  has  no  time  to  turn  to  those  pursuits  by  which  it 
should  live.  It  seems  dying  in  paroxysms. 

I  found  there  a  class  unlike  any  that  you  know,  though 
there  are  some  of  them  here,  too ;  a  class  of  aristocrats, 
people  educated,  versed  in  the  world.  There  are  wonder 
ful  women  there,  little  girl,  and  men  whose  intelligence, 
were  it  not  blind,  should  bring  about  better  things.  I  saw 
with  bitterness  that  these,  a  small  minority  of  my  people  as 
they  are,  had  lost  sight,  in  their  wrangling,  of  the  masses  of 
us  who  live  away,  who  crowd  the  little  towns  and  make  the 
country.  These  masses  alone  can  I  claim  for  my  people. 
And  the  enlightenment  and  the  power  that  the  others  have 
must  one  day  be  to  them. 

But  how  very  far  are  these  our  people  from  ability  to 
reach  enlightenment  !  Can  there  be,  anywhere  on  the 
globe,  a  race  that  needs  more?  And  this  in  particular 
brings  sadness  to  me  :  the  thing  they  do  most  need  is 
character.  Truth,  honesty,  faithfulness,  these  our  people 
have  not,  these  they  dream  not.  In  my  readings  of  other 
peoples,  Clarita,  I  always  felt  'heir  histories  started  with 
some  quality  we  do  not  have.  They  were  stable.  I  won 
dered,  then,  is  it  because  my  nation  is  young  that  it  knows 
not  truth?  I  think  it  is  not  so.  Our  ancient  ancestors, 
the  Aztecs,  kept  faith,  and  they  were  newer  than  we. 
Heart  rottenness,  faithlessness,  deceit,  —  these  I  have  found 
to  be  qualities  of  old  nations,  nations  run  out,  living  in  tra 
dition.  And  as  my  heart  is  true  and  as  I  am  writing  to 
her  I  love  as  my  own  blood,  I  swear  I  believe  that  the  dis 
honesty  of  my  race  comes  from  Spain.  It  is  the  tainted 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  73 

blood.  We  were  not  highly  civilized  before  the  Spaniards 
came.  I  will  not  claim  even  that  which  others  have  claimed. 
But  had  Spain  not  wronged  us  we  should  have  reached  a 
development  which  this  broken  Spanish  offspring  knows  not. 
Clarita,  longing  for  something  true,  something  firm  and 
strong,  I  have  looked  about  me  in  vain.  Somewhere  under 
the  current  it  may  be  —  but  invisible.  Let  me  say  it  with 
shame,  veracity  is  gone  from  the  whole  scheme  of  the 
Mexican  character.  I  have  wept  and  cursed  and  called  us 
no  more  than  a  nation  of  liars  and  thieves.  The  seller  in 
the  market  cheats  his  neighbor  a  score  of  times  every  day 
that  he  breathes  the  air.  The  child  at  its  mother's  skirts 
learns  first  of  all,  greatest  and  chiefest  lesson,  to  lie  for  gain. 
Everywhere  that  I  go  my  heart  bleeds.  What  can  I  do 
with  these ;  what  can  I  hope  from  a  nation  from  whose 
whole  moral  life  truth  has  been  taken  away,  to  whom  dis 
honesty  is  virtue' — theft,  success?  This  to  me,  in  the 
masses  of  the  people,  who  are  under  the  current  of  the 
political  storms,  is  sadder  than  the  embroiled  condition  of 
the  government  that  shifts  and  fights  over  their  heads. 

But  I  must  not,  I  will  not  despair.  How  I  long  to  do  it 
all,  to  lift  them  !  But  it  will  take  generations.  If  I  can 
be  but  the  beginning  of  something  stable,  let  me  not  say 
that  I  have  lived  in  vain.  Somewhere  under  the  current 
must  lie  the  truth,  and  I  know  in  other  things  my  people 
have  traits  that  have,  many  times,  made  nations  of  the 
greatest  power  before  whom  the  world  has  trembled.  They 
have  all  else.  Let  them  only  be  taught  in  this  night  that 
truth,  truth  alone,  will  bring  the  day.  I  see  but  one  way. 
There  must  come,  and  there  will  come,  as  surely  as  the  sun 
rises,  some  man  of  strength,  some  iron  soul  that  can  grasp 
the  nation  and  hold  it  in  the  way  of  progress.  There  must 
be  a  heart  that  never  flinches ;  an  eye  that  sees  into  every 
nook  and  corner  of  the  land ;  a  mind  that  grasps  all,  di 
gests  all ;  a  soul  that  loves  and  is  true.  That  man  will 
come.  Might  it  be  I  !  But  despair  not;  if  not  I,  then 


74  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

another.    Let  failure  stalk  on  ;  I  can  nevertheless  prophesy, 
the  century  shall  not  die  till  he  come. 

In  these  thoughts,  what  comfort  to  turn  to  you,  little  girl 
by  the  lake  !  You  alone  are  true.  I  read  your  last  letter 
with  delight.  Your  writing  improves,  and  you  can  think. 
That  you  love  the  books  I  have  found  for  you  is  much  hap 
piness  to  me.  Pepa  too  has  written.  How  secretly  she 
learned  long  ago,  and  how  she  surprised  us,  when  last  I 
came,  by  writing  in  the  sand  !  May  the  time  come  when 
there  shall  not  be  a  canton  where  schools  are  not,  and 
scarcely  a  peon's  child  that  cannot  read.  Pepa  has  won 
my  heart.  How  deeply  I  had  grown  to  love  her  I  did  not 
know  till  I  saw  her  last.  Already  is  she  a  woman.  Tell 
her  that  my  promises  to  her,  when  last  I  saw  her,  are  locked 
in  my  breast.  She  is  not  absent  from  me.  Let  me  not  be 
abs'ent  from  her.  I  shall  write  to  her  soon,  and  let  love 
hold  us  as  one. 

And  so,  good-by,  my  sister.  I  shall  come  sometimes  to 
Chapala  for  a  short  while  only,  before  I  come  at  last  for  the 
great  deed  —  and  then,  Heaven  be  my  guide  !  And  turn 
not  from  your  sweet,  pure  walking  in  the  world.  Be  truth, 
Clarita,  in  this  darkness  of  untruth.  Let  the  world  lie,  let 
faith  die  away,  I  know  you  will  carry  in  your  heart  the 
virtue  that  was  your  mother's,  the  faithfulness  that  is  your 
own.  Go  you  with  God. 

VICENTE. 

He  did  come  one  other  time  before  the  great  time 
came.  And  after  that  the  waiting  began  drawing  to 
an  end.  What  power  he  had  was  gathered  close  in 
him,  ripening  fast.  Meanwhile  the  waves  of  revolu 
tion  ceased  not  to  sweep  the  land.  The  people  saw 
little  chance  for  safety.  Comfort  and  peace  failed 
together.  Dissatisfaction  was  abroad.  In  this  un 
stable  state  the  very  means  of  living  must  grow  more 
scant.  Corn,  that  chief  factor  of  the  food  of  the  com- 


A    DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  75 

mons,  had  scarce  time  to  grow,  till  the  hot  blasts 
withered  it.  Famine  occurred  from  time  to  time  in 
many  parts.  It  came  at  length  to  Jalisco  and  the 
lake  region.  There  was  a  dearth  of  corn.  The  same 
old  cause  that  has  stirred  the  masses  since  the  days 
of  Rome,  ay,  and  long  before,  served  to  raise  them 
here. 

But  even  in  this,  fish  could  still  be  drawn  from  the 
lake.  The  great  majority  of  these  people  were  not 
really  hungry.  A  leader  who  was  more  a  man  of  the 
world,  who  had  fewer  visions  and  was  more  practical, 
would  not  have  mistaken  the  sporadic  uprising  of  a 
few  for  a  profound  movement,  nor  the  results  of  his 
own  magnetism,  and  the  church's  under-working,  for 
the  evidences  of  a  permanent  change.  He  would 
have  feared  the  current  was  shallow. 


PART    SECOND 

TIZAPAN 

CHAPTER    I 

THE  nucleus  of  the  army  was  born  during  the 
summer  of  1846.  Vicente  left  the  monastery 
early  in  July,  and,  without  going  to  his  former 
home,  proceeded  to  Ocotlan,  a  town  on  the  lake 
some  distance  to  the  east  of  Chapala.  The  clergy 
had  been,  in  all  this  region,  diligently  at  work. 
The  priest  of  Ocotlan  received  him.  The  last  of 
his  plans  were  there  matured.  He  began  a  slow 
journey  round  the  lake's  borders,  not  for  the  pur 
pose  of  raising  any  considerable  number  of  troops, 
rather  to  prepare,  in  conjunction  with  the  priest 
hood,  for  the  uprising  on  a  second  circuit  which  he 
should  undertake  at  the  completion  of  the  first.  He 
wished,  on  this  primary  journey,  merely  to  gather 
up  a  small  body  of  some  two  hundred  men  whom  he 
knew  personally,  and  understood  to  be  even  now 
ready  for  him.  He  would  drill  that  body,  and  make 
it  the  beginning  whereto  subsequent  rebels  might 
cling. 

By  the  end  of  July  he  was  on  the  lake's  southern 
side  at  Tizapan.  Quiroz  here  joined  him.  They 
proceeded  to  Tuxcueco  and  San  Luis.  When  they 
arrived  at  the  latter  place  they  were  at  the  head  of 
more  than  one  hundred  men.  They  made  no  demon- 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  77 

stration.  They  interfered  with  nothing,  produced 
nothing  of  a  revolution.  They  held  their  men  in 
check  and  drilled  them.  They  found  the  clergy 
working  as  silently  and  quickly  as  they.  They 
knew  just  what  number  of  soldiers  they  might 
expect  from  each  town  when  they  should  come 
again.  Months  before  there  had  arrived,  little  by 
little,  in  certain  of  the  larger  places,  arms  and 
ammunition  purchased  by  the  church.  These  should 
be  at  Vicente's  disposal.  Some  of  his  troop  came 
already  armed.  Those  who  did  not  were  quietly 
provided  for.  By  late  August  he  was  in  Jocotepec, 
at  the  lake's  western  end,  with  his  expected  band 
of  two  hundred.  He  camped  them  a  mile  from  the 
town. 

He,  with  Doroteo,  spent  an  additional  month  in 
that  spot.  He  received  secret  word,  almost  every 
day,  from  the  priesthood  relative  to  the  depositories 
of  arms,  the  well  mapped-out  course  of  his  coming 
triumphal  march  with  its  prearranged  details  con 
cerning  camps  and  provision  for  the  army.  As  yet 
his  force  was  infantry,  save  ten.  He  drilled  them 
thus  for  lack  of  horses.  But  there  were  negotia 
tions  on  foot  for  more  animals.  It  was  his  determi 
nation  to  mount  every  man  possible  and  as  quickly 
as  he  could.  This,  too,  was  the  church's  purpose. 
It  was  hoped  and  believed  that  by  the  completion  of 
half  the  second  circuit  he  might  see  his  entire  force, 
grown  as  it  should  be,  mounted.  With  a  formidable 
array  of  cavalry,  composed  of  these  hardy  riders,  he 
would  be  safe  against  immediate  attack  to  organize 
more  infantry,  or,  should  the  time  seem  ready, 
make  a  quick  dash  and  carry  consternation  imme 
diately  to  Guadalajara  itself. 

Whatever  may  be  said  as  to  the  rawness  of  the 


78  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

rest  of  his  troops  (from  the  very  speed  of  his  subse 
quent  movements  not  well  organized)  it  is  certain 
that  his  nucleus  of  two  hundred  became,  under  his 
hand,  like  a  fine  machine.  He  spent  day  and  night 
in  labor  over  them.  He  won  their  hearts.  He 
learned  to  wield  them  with  the  accuracy  and  pre 
cision  of  a  single  tool. 

All  this  time,  though  occasionally  menaced,  he 
was  not  disturbed.  He  had  produced  absolutely  no 
confusion,  and  the  public  mind  was  not  roused. 
The  State  was  impoverished  as  to  troops.  Every 
canton  had  been  sucked  of  its  blood  for  many  wars. 
There  were  no  State  troops  whatever  in  the  lake 
region,  few  enough  anywhere  else.  The  only 
defenders  of  these  districts  were  the  jcfcs  politico* 
of  the  cantons  and  their  few  gendarmes.  Even 
these  police  had  been  diminished  in  number  for 
distant  combats.  At  Chapala  there  was  but  the 
ridiculous  number  of  eleven.  The  cantons  were 
small.  If  Vicente  found  himself  exciting  hostility 
in  one,  he  had  but  to  flit  with  his  troop  into  another, 
where  a  different,  weakened,  and  unrouscdjrfe  held 
sway. 

On  a  day  of  September,  the  summer  rains  having 
about  ceased,  and  the  long  dry  season  being  on  the 
point  of  beginning,  he  suddenly,  without  warning, 
crossed  the  boundary  of  Rodrigo's  dominion  at 
Ajicjic,  entered  the  Chapala  canton,  and  appeared 
late  in  the  evening  with  his  two  hundred  in  Chapala 
itself.  They  marched  in  quietly,  meeting  no  oppo 
sition,  wheeled  down  the  main  street,  issued  on  the 
beach,  and  camped  there  for  the  night. 

The  town  was  profoundly  stirred,  but  without 
tumult.  Rodrigo  (who,  as  shall  be  seen,  had  not 
been  altogether  inactive),  calling  together  his 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  79 

eleven  men  (they  were  all  mounted),  shut  himself 
up  in  the  patio  of  the  jefatura  politico,,  cursed  his 
fortune  for  dividing  the  State  as  it  was,  and  leaving 
him  in  one  division  of  it  with  eleven  men,  laid  the 
matter  before  his  confederates,  and  speedily  decided 
his  course. 

The  revolutionary  band  was  provided  for  and  left 
in  the  hands  of  lieutenants.  Quiroz,  night  ap 
proaching,  went  with  his  quick  tread  for  a  secret 
conference  with  the  priest.  Vicente  first  found 
Clarita  alone  in  the  fishing  hut,  and,  having  spent 
with  her  a  half  hour,  which  to  that  lonely  girl  was 
a  space  of  intense  delight,  left  her,  and  proceeded 
to  the  inn.  The  night  had  come,  and  the  waves 
were  rising  on  the  lake.  The  last  pink  glow  of  the 
sunset  lingered  in  the  zenith.  The  wind  came 
fresh  and  strong  out  of  the  watery  west,  and  blew 
over  camp  and  town.  He  entered  the  meson>  whose 
wide,  inner  corredores  and  patio  with  plants  were 
silent  and  dark.  He  proceeded  straight  to  a  room 
reserved  for  him.  He  wondered  where  was  Pepa. 

Having  left  ajar  the  door  leading  into  the  wide 
veranda,  he  lit  a  candle.  He  stood  there  a  moment, 
its  light  over  his  features,  displaying  the  high  fore 
head,  the  sensitive  mouth,  the  strong  chin,  —  above 
all,  the  peculiar  whiteness  of  his  complexion.  He 
stared  out  into  the  shades  of  the  silent  patio.  The 
guests  at  this  time  of  year  were  few.  Supper  was 
not  served  till  two  hours  later.  The  corredores  were 
unlighted.  Where  was  Pepa?  She  had  been  in 
formed  of  his  coming.  He  waited  yet  a  half  hour. 
She  had  not  come. 

He  had  just  turned  with  knitted  brow  to  the 
candle,  when  she  suddenly  appeared,  framed  in  the 
shadowed  doorway.  She  had  grown  taller.  She 


8o  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

was  never  more  beautiful.  She  gave  a  little  cry, 
but  advanced  slowly.  He  met  her  half-way,  held 
her,  and  gazed  into  her  eyes.  Something  in  them 
produced  in  him  a  sudden  gloom.  She  seemed 
changed.  There  was  an  unwonted  touch  of  sadness 
in  her  face. 

"Pepa!"  he  cried.  "What  is  it?  You  do  not 
seem  like  the  old  Pepa.  Tell  me  !  " 

"The  old  one?  Ah,  Vicente,  you  do  not  want 
the  old  one."  She  looked  dreamily  at  the  light. 
"  No,  no  —  a  new  one,  one  that  knows  you  and 
understands  the  greatness  of  all  you  will  do. 
Vicente,  I  am  turned  into  a  half  wild  girl  these 
times.  Oh!  I  am  restless!  I  want  to  do  something 
—  to  act,  like  you."  She  pressed  closer  to  him. 
"Tell  me,"  she  whispered,  "when  is  the  first  blow 
to  be  struck.  When  can  we  fight?  " 

He  laughed  gently  at  her. 

"You,  the  woman,"  cried  he,  "calling  for  blood! 
Pepa,  you  have  been  to  me  the  soul  of  this  great 
hope.  I  have  carried  you  with  me  wherever  I  went. 
That  I  may  come  to  her,  I  said,  before  the  real  war 
begins,  and  let  her  be  the  final  inspiration  of  it,  - 
her  love  the  beginning  and  the  power  of  it  —  this 
will  be  my  happiness.  You  have  lifted  this  dream 
above  dreams,  that  march  above  the  acts  of  adven 
turers.  I  have  lain  down  every  night  with  your 
face  before  me,  arisen  every  morning  with  Pepa  for 
the  spring  of  the  day's  deeds.  You  are  restless; 
your  blood  bounds  with  the  uncrushed  spirit  of  the 
old  days  as  does  mine.  Then  may  you  indeed  begin 
the  action.  Pepa,  the  time  of  quiet  marches  and 
drilling  is  this  night  passed.  Tell  me  —  are  you 
ready  with  your  own  hands  to  begin  for  me  the  new 
course  ? " 


A   DREAM   OF  A    THRONE  81 

"What  is  it?"  she  whispered  eagerly.  There 
was  a  depth  to  that  eagerness  that  even  he  did  not 
comprehend.  She  grew  suddenly  solemn,  hanging 
on  his  words.  He  believed  her  face  slightly 
darkened. 

"It  is  this,"  said  he.  "The  first  overt  act  shall 
be  committed  to-night.  The  time  is  ripe.  I  need 
now  at  last  to  make  the  one  irrevocable  leap. 
Hitherto  I  have  done  nothing  distinctly  hostile.  I 
will  show  my  intentions  plainly  to-night,  that  all 
the  world  may  see.  The  provocation  must  come 
from  me.  I  can  no  longer  go  on  increasing  my 
numbers  without  opposition.  So  let  it  be  plainly 
war.  Three  hundred  men  await  me  at  Mescala, 
whither  I  go  to-morrow.  Ocotlan  has  others.  By 
to-morrow  night,  so  ready  is  the  machinery  of  the 
church,  I  shall  march  into  the  latter  place  with 
eight  hundred.  The  progress  henceforth  is  swift, 
open.  I  am  from  this  night  in  war.  To  break 
into  it  boldly,  so  that  there  may  be  no  retreat 
either  for  me  or  for  my  men,  I  shall  take  possession 
of  the  canton  building  here  before  midnight." 

She  turned  suddenly  pale.  But  she  conquered 
the  thought  that  caused  the  pallor,  and  smiled  that 
dazzling  smile  of  hers.  She  grasped  his  hand  in  a 
tight  grip,  and  whispered  : 

"Will  there  be  a  battle?" 

"There  may  be  resistance,  but  I  doubt  it." 

She  was  silent.  She  withdrew  from  him  and 
paced  the  room.  She  broke  out,  presently,  into  a 
ringing  laugh  of  keen  and  reckless  merriment. 
She  came  back  to  him  where  he  stood  by  the  candle 
watching  her.  She  put  her  hands  upon  his  shoulders, 
and  brought  her  raised  face  close  to  his. 

"What  am  I  to  do?  "  she  asked. 
6 


82  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

"  I  will  tell  you.  The  people  need  some  striking 
beginning  to  appeal  to  their  imaginations.  The 
match  must  flare  in  a  way  that  the  populace  will 
see.  The  moment  of  the  break  ought  to  have  in  it 
something  that  can  be  told  and  spread  in  all  direc 
tions.  Hidalgo,  when  he  raised  the  people  long 
since,  recognized  the  advantage  of  the  tocsin.  He 
knew  that  among  all  the  untutored  masses  that 
sound  would  ring  out  and  produce  an  effect  that  a 
hundred  proclamations  would  not  cause.  I  have 
thought  of  this  long.  Pepa,  you  shall  ring  the 
tocsin  and  start  the  revolt.  My  men  shall  be  ready. 
A  quick  and  orderly  march  will  be  made  to  the 
jefatura  politico,  and  the  place  taken.  The  flame  will 
then  be  lit.  None  can  turn  back.  My  reign  will 
begin  when  you  touch  the  bells  of  the  church." 

Her  blood  was  bounding;  yet  it  did  not  produce 
that  burst  of  enthusiasm  he  had  expected. 

"If  they  resist,"  she  whispered,  "and  you  seize 
them,  will  they  —  will  they  be  —  killed,  even  the 
leader?" 

"Untamed,  indeed!"  cried  he.  "What,  then,  is 
the  beautiful  barbarian's  idea  of  war!  They  shall 
only  be  held,  unless  they  die  fighting.  What  is 
it?  Have  I  dreamed  this  poor  little  dream  in 
vain  ?  " 

She  threw  her  arms  around  him  with  a  feverish- 
ness  that  he  may  have  thought  he  understood. 

"  I  will  do  it !  "  she  cried.     "  What  is  the  hour  ?  " 

"Twelve  o'clock,"  said  he. 

She  broke  away  from  him  and  ran  to  the  door. 
She  turned,  and  her  eyes  were  blazing  with  the 
light  he  thought  he  loved  and  understood.  What 
man's  mind  could  have  been  prism  enough  to  sepa 
rate  and  count  the  rays  that  made  that  light?  The 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  83 

fever  in  her  grew.     She  threw  a  quick  kiss  at  him 
from  her  finger  tips  and  was  gone. 

A  mozo  was  lighting  lamps  over  dining-tables 
which  stood  in  the  corredor.  She  could  hear  her 
mother's  voice  in  the  far  kitchen.  She  went  out 
into  the  dark  passage  that  led  into  the  street,  passed 
a  shadow  standing  there,  and  was  startled  that  it 
slightly  moved.  She  came  into  the  street,  and 
went  wandering  restless,  bareheaded,  toward  the 
lake.  She  stood  at  last  under  the  salati  tree,  the 
water  beating  up  on  the  sand  before  her.  She  sud 
denly  started  and  turned.  The  shadow  that  had 
been  in  the  passage  had  followed  her  with  lithe, 
silent  tread.  She  could  see  his  pointed  sombrero, 
and  the  points  of  his  moustaches  were  barely  visible. 

"Josefa  Aranja,"  whispered  he,  half  mockingly, 
—  "the  heroine  —  ah,  she  of  the  bells.  Does  she 
dream  of  the  long  future  wherein  the  tocsin  shall 
still  ring  Pepa's  fame  and  memory!  The  days  and 
the  years  will  go  by  and  die.  The  king  will  reign; 
and  pupils  in  schools  will  learn  of  her,  of  her  who 
rang  the  bells.  And  after  many  years  there  will  be 
a  high  bronze  statue  in  a  beautiful  park  in  the  city's 
centre,  and  the  statue  will  be  the  slender  figure  of 
Josefa  Aranja.  And  on  this  day  school  children 
shall  sing  and  bands  shall  play,  and  there  shall  be 
wreaths  on  her  head  and  wreaths  at  her  feet,  — 
though  Pepa  shall  know  it  not,  for  that  she  lies 
yonder,  where  the  sun  falls  yellow  on  the  sod ! 
Ah  !  picture  of  beauty !  —  she  who  rang  the  tocsin, 
and  is  called  her  country's  liberator!" 

She  turned  angrily  on  him,  her  very  forehead 
burning. 

"And  Doroteo  Quiroz,"  she  cried,  "may  be 
called  a  traitor  on  that  day ! " 


84  A    DREAM   OF  A    THRONE 

She  ran  away  and  disappeared  in  the  darkness. 
She  came  at  length  under  the  two  slender  white- 
spires.  The  church  was  dark  and  deserted,  and  in 
the  empty  walled  court  before  it  she  spent  the  next 
few  hours  alone,  seated  in  the  darkness  at  a  tower's 
base.  Those  hours  were  unhappy  ones.  When 
the  clock  over  her  head  struck  half-past  nine,  she 
could  sit  still  no  longer.  She  sighed  and  arose. 

"He  will  be  fleeing,"  murmured  she,  feeling  the 
heat  on  her  face. 

The  clock  struck  yet  other  quarters.  The  struggle 
in  her  that  made  the  hours  unhappy  grew  fiercer  as 
the  night  advanced.  It  was  at  last  intolerable,  and 
she  could  wait  no  more.  It  was  half-past  ten  when 
she  went  slowly  up  the  deserted  street  past  her 
home,  and  came,  with  something  like  stealth,  to  the 
open  market  square.  The  tiny  shops  were  closed 
and  the  stone-flagged  space  was  bare,  save  for  a  few 
lime  and  orange  trees.  She  crossed  it  with  a  quick 
impulsive  burst  of  speed,  the  struggle  in  her  hav 
ing  ended. 

She  came  at  length  to  that  long,  low,  white  build 
ing  over  whose  door  the  words  "Jefatura  Politica" 
were  painted  in  yellow  letters.  She  flitted  to  the 
iron-barred  window  in  the  shadow.  The  window's 
doorlike  inner  shutters  were  closed,  though  she- 
could  detect  little  gleams  of  light  coming  through 
the  cracks.  She  held  to  the  bars,  her  untamed 
heart  beating  swiftly.  She  put  her  face  to  them 
after  a  time  and  called,  scarcely  above  a  whisper: 

"  Don  Rodrigo  !  " 

There  was  no  sound  from  within.  She  shivered 
a  little.  She  could  just  hear  the  clock  striking  a 
quarter  to  eleven,  the  tones  wavering  up  from  the 
lake  on  the  uncertain  wind.  She  became  a  little 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  85 

piqued  and  then  half  angry.  She  laughed  with 
scorn  of  herself,  but  nervously.  She  slipped  on, 
then,  to  the  door,  some  yards  distant.  It  was  very 
large,  and  double,  to  permit  of  the  passage  of 
horses.  It  was  made  of  heavy,  thick  wood,  set  in 
something  of  a  recess.  She  was  at  it,  silently 
extending  her  hand  toward  the  iron  knocker,  when 
a  guard  stepped  from  the  recess's  shadow. 

"  What  do  you  want?  "  asked  he. 

She  was  too  daring  not  to  go  on  now  in  the  course 
begun. 

"To  speak  to  theyV/V  she  whispered,  shrinking 
as  much  as  possible  into  the  darkness. 

"Oh!"  he  said,  recognizing  her.     "He  is  busy. " 

"I  will  speak  to  him,"  she  said  imperiously. 
"Go  and  tell  him  to  let  me  in." 

The  man  entered,  and  presently  returned  and 
admitted  her,  closing  the  door  after  her.  She  went 
through  the  stone-paved  passage  that  led  to  the 
patio.  That  inner  court  was  very  large.  On  two 
sides,  approached  by  wide-roofed  corredores,  were 
offices,  a  court,  and  living  rooms  for  Rodrigo,  and 
certain  other  officials.  Opposite  the  door,  barely 
distinguishable  in  the  gloom  on  the  far  side,  were 
many  stables.  There  was  a  door  there,  too,  leading 
out  to  the  rear  at  St.  Michael's  foot,  where  there 
was  no  beaten  path  among  the  boulders  and  over 
the  rocky  mountain  side,  but  where  it  was  possible 
for  a  horse  to  go,  reaching  thus,  by  a  circuit,  the 
Guadalajara  road. 

She  heard  some  confusion  in  the  darkness  of  that 
distant  side  where  the  stables  stood.  One  towering 
and  spreading  mamey  tree  in  the  patio's  centre 
swayed  and  sighed  with  the  wind.  She  tiptoed 
along  the  bricks  and  gently  knocked  where  a  beam 


86  A    DREAM    OF  A    THRONE 

of  light  came  through  a  keyhole.  Rodrigo  himself 
opened  the  door.  She  had  shrunk  away  and  hidden 
herself  in  the  shadow.  He  saw  only  the  night,  and 
heard  only  the  confusion  at  the  stables.  She  some 
how  felt  or  feigned  fear.  He  stepped  out  and 
caught  sight  of  her  dress  as  the  wind  fluttered  it. 
His  face  became  suddenly  serious,  seen  in  the  light 
from  the  office. 

"What  is  it?  "  said  he,  in  a  voice  hardly  audible. 

"You  do  not  ask  me  to  come  in,"  she  replied. 
She  was  sulking  in  the  shadow.  He  presently  suc 
ceeded  in  drawing  her  out  of  it. 

She  went  in  and  sat  down  by  a  large  square  table 
whereon  were  papers  and  a  pistol  with  its  cartridge 
belt.  He  sat  down  opposite  and  gazed  at  her. 
She  had  heard  his  spur  clink  as  he  entered.  She 
arose  boldly,  closed  the  door,  and  returned  to  her 
seat.  Her  face  showed  the  extreme  high  tension  of 
her  nerves.  It  was  with  her  a  peculiar  moment, 
wherein  a  native,  reckless  daring  combated  with 
fear,  even  with  shame.  She  spread  out  her  fingers 
on  the  table,  and  did  not  look  at  Rodrigo  or  say 
anything.  She  merely  sat  there.  Then  the  blood 
rushed  to  her  face. 

"You  have  come,"  said  he  at  last,  slowly,  "be 
cause  the  troubles  and  the  wars  are  beginning.  I 
was  never  blind  to  the  fact,  Pepa,  that  you  had  a 
lover.  So  the  —  friendship  that  sprang  up  and  lived 
and  grew  to  be  —  well,  it  was  not  a  cold  one  — 
between  us,  you  feel  must  give  way.  We  are  sooner 
or  later  to  go  different  paths.  You  would  be  an 
enemy,  should  it  fall  to  my  lot  to  fight,  that  would 
lend  more  meaning  to  fighting.  Knowing  you  as  I 
have  known  you,  I  fancied  many  times  that  when 
the  silent  little  army  reached  this  place  you  would 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  87 

desert  us  and  turn  Amazon.  You  have  come  to  say 
good-by;  is  it  not  so?" 

She  threw  back  her  head  and  let  her  eyes  rest  on 
him.  They  were  burning,  and  the  red  blush  was  in 
her  very  temples. 

"I  can  say  it  if  you  wish,"  said  she,  half  petu 
lantly,  half  solemnly. 

"It  is  not  I,  it  is  the  troubles  that  wish,"  he 
replied.  "You  have  made  the  days  pass  with  an 
added  light  in  them,  —  the  sad  old  days.  I  shall 
ever  be  glad  I  knew  you.  May  you  never,  in  these 
bad  times  that  are  coming,  do  such  great  deeds  as  to 
be  no  longer  the  girl  you  are.  Pepa,  I  shall  remem 
ber  you  always  as  you  were  in  the  days  when  we 
knew  each  other." 

"  Remember  me  !  "  cried  the  impetuous  girl,  aris 
ing  with  anger  and  pain  in  her  face.  "  No  —  crush 
me  out  of  your  memory.  I  will  ask  but  that  one 
favor.  If,  when  I  come,  as  I  came  to-night,  with  a 
thing  on  my  tongue  to  say,  which  I  trembled  think 
ing  of,  that  would  have  been,  perchance,  more  nearly 
like  ruin  to  me  than  great  deeds,  and  I  dare  not  say 
it,  rather  fling  it  away  from  me  —  if,  when  I  am 
thus,  you  call  up  some  old  days  coldly,  and  all  but 
tell  me  to  say  the  last  farewell  and  be  gone  —  then 
I  pray  you,  Don  Rodrigo,  in  the  name  of  unspoken 
faith,  do  not  strain  your  foreign  ideas  of  kindness 
to  keep  me  in  your  memory ! " 

Many  a  time  he  had  feared  the  possibilities  in  this 
girl.  He  had  vainly  tried  to  hold  her  back.  He 
was  struck  now  by  a  positive  grief  that  stood  out  for 
one  second  on  her  face. 

"  You  hate  me  —  you  despise  me  !  "  she  cried 
suddenly.  "  Let  the  bird  break  its  wings !  " 

She  was  leaving  him,  hurrying  to  the  door.      He 


88  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

sprang  forward  and  reached  it  before  her.  He  flung 
it  open  and  pointed  out.  She  looked,  and  the  light 
from  the  room  fell  in  a  wide  streak  across  the  patio. 
She  beheld  horses  there  saddled,  and  men  in  secret 
haste  saddling  others.  She  heard  his  spur  again 
clink  on  the  bricks.  She  realized  the  purposed 
flight. 

"Go!"  whispered  he.  "You  must  not  stay. 
Whether  you  will  it  or  not  I  shall  remember  you. 
You  see  the  horses  —  you  understand.  You  need 
not  say  the  thing  you  were  afraid  to  say.  Never  — 
never ! " 

She  moved  away. 

"And  thank  you!"  he  called  after  her,  thinking 
of  days  she  had  brightened  for  him,  himself  struck 
with  a  sudden  sadness. 

She  was  surprised,  her  heart  brought  back,  by 
those  last  words.  She  turned  from  the  shadow  one 
instant,  and  smiled  on  him  a  quick  smile  which  he 
never  forgot.  She  ran  out,  then,  to  the  street,  and 
was  gone. 

He  knew  at  once  that  she  had  misinterpreted  his 
thanks.  He  knew  that  was  the  thing  above  all  else 
he  should  not  have  said.  He  muttered  self-accusa 
tions  and  turned  back  into  the  room. 

Her  mood  was  changed.  She  was  become  eager, 
full  of  intense  excitement,  happy  with  a  happiness 
that  made  her  heart  sing.  She  drowned  all  other 
thoughts,  recalling  his  last  words  and  look,  crushing 
all  other  visions.  This  was  enough,  like  liquor  that 
in  itself  suffices  though  it  bring  unheeded  pain 
afterward.  She  would  not  return  to  the  meson  ;  nor 
would  she  speak  to  or  see  any  other  human  being 
till  midnight  should  come.  She  crossed  the  plaza 
and  went  to  the  east.  She  turned  then  into  the 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  89 

darkness  of  a  street  that  leads  to  the  lake  behind 
the  church.  She  wandered  on  down  toward  the 
water,  her  happiness  becoming,  as  she  came,  mingled 
with  a  certain  pensiveness  which  seemed  ever  a  part 
of  her  nature,  which  was,  indeed,  the  trait  most 
fascinating  in  her. 

She  was  as  still  as  the  night.  Behind  the  church 
there  were  lime-kilns,  huge  and  smoking.  They 
stood  at  the  beginning  of  the  open  beach.  She 
came  to  them.  The  burner  suddenly  threw  open 
the  door  of  one  of  the  blazing  furnaces  in  order  to 
heave  in  more  wood.  A  shaft  of  intense  red  light 
shot  out  across  the  beach  and  the  lake,  so  that  the 
sand  and  the  water  seemed  burning  with  it,  and  a 
tunnel  was  cut  into  the  heart  of  the  night.  She 
stopped  near  the  kiln  in  the  shadows.  The  burner 
heaved  in  a  stick,  and  then  suddenly  saw  her  appear 
in  the  brightest  of  the  light,  staring  into  the  fierce 
mass  of  white  fire.  He  was  startled.  She  looked, 
bathed  in  that  brilliancy,  like  the  fire's  very  spirit. 
He  gaped  at  her  and  turned  to  his  work. 

"Pretty  hot,"  volunteered  he. 

She  went  away  toward  the  water. 

"No  — no,  "said  she,  slowly.      "That  is  n't  hot." 

The  door  of  the  furnace  was  shut,  and  the  night 
buried  in  darkness  the  shaft  the  light  had  cut.  She 
came  to  the  water's  very  edge,  where  the  night 
waves  rolled  on  the  sand,  running  frantic  races  all 
along  the  shore,  out  of  blackness  into  blackness, 
white  demons  that  they  were. 

When  the  clock  struck  three-quarters  past  eleven, 
she  entered  the  walled  front  court  of  the  church,  and 
came  to  the  side  of  the  right-hand  tower.  In  its 
base  was  an  open  door  leading  to  stairs  and  the 
belfry.  It  was  never  closed,  and  the  bell-ringers 


9o  A    DREAM   OF  A    THRONE 

lived  in  huts  by  the  lime-kilns.  She  went  in  and 
groped  in  the  narrow  space  of  blackness  for  the 
steps.  Then  she  began  to  ascend.  As  in  many 
Mexican  churches  of  to-day  the  stairs  to  the  bells 
were  stone  and  spiral.  They  were  very  old  and 
worn,  by  much  use,  into  deep  hollows.  She  circled 
round  and  round  and  up,  in  the  darkness,  her  hands 
following  the  stone  wall  and  the  central  stone  shaft. 
She  could  see  absolutely  nothing.  She  came  at  last 
to  the  spiral's  summit,  traversed  a  short  passage, 
went  under  a  low  doorway,  and  issued  in  the  belfry. 
It  was  open  to  the  free  air  on  all  sides.  At  its 
corners  many  slender  white  pillars  supported  the 
spires  above.  Their  lightness  and  grace  were  pure 
beauty  even  in  the  night.  The  cool  west  wind 
swept  through  under  the  bells  which  hung  their 
great  weights  and  iron  tongues  over  her  head.  She 
felt  for  the  rope  of  the  largest,  a  bell  of  deep  voice. 
The  cord  was  tied  to  the  clapper.  Having  assured 
herself  of  its  position,  she  went  to  the  belfry's  side 
and  leaned  over  the  stone  railing,  waiting.  She 
grew  again  feverish,  and  could  scarcely  be  still. 
The  wind  cast  her  black  hair  all  about  her  face  and 
fluttered  her  skirts.  She  sang  an  odd  and  melan 
choly  song: 

"  Oh  thou  Fair  God  !  when  wilt  thou  come  again, 

That  all  the  barren  land  may  laugh  with  flowers  ? 
Fulfil  thy  sacred  promises  to  men, 

Bring  us  the  fruits  of  thy  mysterious  powers  ! 
We  die  —  forsake  us  not. 
Hast  thou  thy  sons  forgot  ? 
Thou  wast  our  fathers'  God  —  Be  ours  !  Be  ours  !  " 

She  waited  yet  another  silent  minute.  Then  the 
silver  voice  under  her  began  proclaiming  the  hour  of 
midnight.  She  turned  and  seized  the  rope,  and 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  91 

counted.  At  the  last  stroke  she  put  out  all  her 
energy,  and  the  great  clapper  crashed  against  the 
bell.  The  tocsin  pealed  out,  not  once  nor  twice, 
but  many  times.  She  swung  the  iron  tongue  to 
and  fro  with  mighty  clangor.  All  the  silent  night 
seemed  suddenly  shattered  by  that  battering  hail  of 
sound.  The  town  was  up  and  the  cry  raised.  The 
days  of  primitive  peace  were  done. 

The  two  hundred  had  been  drawn  up  in  the  plaza 
a  moment  before  the  hour.  They  had  marched 
quietly  and  stood  in  quiet.  There  was  no  marked 
demonstration.  When  the  tocsin  sounded  and  the 
townspeople  began  gathering  in  wonder,  the  troops 
were  brought  in  order  to  ti\z  jefatur a  politico,.  The 
bell  having  ceased,  Doroteo  Quiroz's  lithe  form 
went  noiselessly  to  the  wooden  door.  He  knocked 
resoundingly,  and  demanded  the  surrender  of  the 
place  in  the  name  of  the  new  government.  There 
was  no  reply.  He  knocked  again,  and  again  de 
manded  in  a  loud  voice.  No  answer.  The  next 
step  was  already  decided  upon.  With  one  hundred 
men  Vicente  had  now  disapppeared  up  the  street, 
wheeled  the  corner  and  ascended  to  St.  Michael's 
side,  from  which  he  could  reach  the  building  over  a 
tortuous  course  at  its  rear.  All  was  done  quietly 
and  in  order.  There  was  no  wish  to  cause  fighting 
or  bloodshed. 

Quiroz,  in  front  with  the  other  hundred,  quietly 
awaited  a  signal.  The  townspeople  still  came 
flocking,  and  huddled  about  in  silent  groups  in  the 
darkness  of  the  plaza.  In  the  midst  of  that  silence 
an  unexpected  thing  occurred.  The  great  Fortino 
(long  since,  in  the  recesses  of  his  crude  heart,  a 
deep  admirer  of  Vicente)  had  secretly  wished  to 
join  the  new  movement.  Not  appreciating  the  full 


92  A   DREAM   OF  A    THRONE 

value  of  order  and  a  quiet  declaration  of  war,  he 
now,  in  the  crowd's  middle,  seeing  the  ice  broken 
and  the  revolution  begun,  became  inspired  to  deeds. 
He  felt  his  vast  muscles  tingle.  He  was  exasperated 
that  the  door  opened  not,  and  that  Vicente's  forces 
stood  thus  balked.  An  unreasoning  enthusiasm 
entered  him.  In  silence  he  trod  up  the  street  after 
the  one  hundred  who  had  disappeared.  He  was  in 
that  street  now  alone,  bending  over  something. 
The  most  prominent  constituent  of  the  ceilings  in 
many  Mexican  houses  is  the  enormous  beams  that 
are  left  visible,  sometimes  beautifully  carved. 
These  are  frequently  of  such  size  and  weight  as  to 
astonish  the  beholder.  One  of  them  lay,  on  this 
night,  in  the  street  before  an  unfinished  house.  It 
was  over  twenty  feet  long  and  exceedingly  thick. 
It  was  thought  six  men  would  be  needed  to  put  it  in 
place.  Over  this  bent  the  enthusiastic  giant.  He 
had  begun  to  chuckle  a  deep,  inward  chuckle.  He 
kneeled  and  seized  the  timber  at  its  middle.  Some 
from  the  crowd  had  now  lit  torches  of  a  resinous 
wood  called  ocotc,  and  came  running  hither. 

"  Away !  away  !  "  growled  the  big  one.  "  Leave 
me  to  it!" 

He  heaved  and  groaned.  Great  folds  of  skin, 
bristling  with  hair,  bulging  on  his  neck,  were 
visible  in  the  flickering  light.  The  width  of  his 
back  seemed  suddenly  doubled.  He  put  out  his 
tremendous  strength,  swelled  and  strained,  sweat 
dripping  from  his  flaming  countenance.  Those 
watching  were  amazed  to  see  the  timber  slowly  rise, 
till  it  rested  on  his  shoulder,  — a  position  unusual 
for  the  burden  of  a  Mexican  carrier.  Then  he  came 
erect,  his  legs  straightening  inch  by  inch.  He  was 
facing  the  plaza,  and  balanced  himself  with  that 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  93 

great  weight,  looking  ahead.  He  chuckled  still, 
rumblingly.  He  was  absorbed,  seeing  no  one. 

"Out  of  the  way!"  thundered  he.  "Give  me 
room.  Give  —  me  —  room  ! " 

He  had  begun  his  astonishing  course,  and  the 
spectators  held  their  breath.  That  mass  of  wood 
that  scarcely  one  of  them  could  have  lifted  went 
heavily  on,  a  mammoth  battering  ram.  The  chuckle 
of  the  bearer  grew  louder.  The  perspiration  became 
streams.  He  went  his  ponderous  way  down  the 
street,  his  speed  increasing.  He  broke  from  a  walk 
to  a  trot,  and  the  trot  grew  faster.  He  gathered 
momentum  and  charged  on,  being  like  a  locomotive 
let  loose.  Every  step  he  took  added  to  his  irre- 
sistibleness.  His  tread  seemed  to  shake  the  ground. 
They  saw  him  coming,  looming  out  of  the  shadows, 
and  spread  to  right  and  left.  His  chuckle  grew 
louder  and  burst  into  a  low  roar.  He  was  running 
now,  fearfully.  He  could  no  more  have  stopped 
himself  than  if  he  had  been  some  cyclone  sweeping 
down  on  the  lodgings  of  the  jefe.  He  neared  the 
plaza,  swerved  through  a  great  arc  to  the  right,  and 
made  the  quarter  circle,  the  timber  wheeling  with 
him.  His  roar  burst  into  a  shout  and  the  end  of 
that  ram  crashed  straight  through  the  wood  of  the 
door,  went  crunching  on  full  half  of  its  twenty  feet 
of  length,  cut  a  square  hole  for  itself,  as  though  it 
had  been  cast  from  a  cannon,  and  stuck,  fastened 
there,  horizontal,  its  hither  half  protruding  into  the 
street.  The  shock  had  hurled  Fortino  back,  but 
not  discomfited  him.  He  let  the  chuckle  sink  slowly 
into  silence,  and  sat  down  On  the  opposite  side  of 
the  street,  satisfied.  Thus  unexpectedly  and  un 
called-for,  in  the  matter  of  revolution  had  Fortino 
declared  himself. 


94  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

The  soldiers  and  some  of  the  crowd  seized  the 
protruding  end  and  swayed  on  it.  The  door  was 
speedily  demolished  and  an  entrance  thus  effected 
at  the  same  time  that  Vicente  found  the  rear  door 
wide  open,  and  marched  in  at  the  head  of  his  men. 
The  two  parties  met.  The  crowd  surged  in  after 
them,  and  filled  the  patio.  Torches  flared  from 
many  hands,  and  the  deserted  condition  of  the  place 
was  apparent. 

The  first  who  pushed  in  after  Doroteo's  soldiers 
was  Pepa,  her  face  full  of  excitement. 

"They  have  gone!  "  said  she  in  Doroteo's  ear. 

He  turned  a  piercing  eye  on  her  and  smiled  a 
gallant  but  half  mocking  smile. 

"And  how  does  the  fair  one  know?"  whispered 
he,  drawing  out  the  point  of  his  moustache. 

She  flashed  a  keen  look  of  defiance  at  him,  and, 
going  to  Vicente,  flung  her  hand  up  wildly  in  air 
and  hailed  him  as  victor.  The  crowd  rallied  round 
her,  instinctively  making  her  a  leader,  and  shouted 
with  her.  Having  satisfied  their  curiosity  they 
surged  out.  Excitement  was  growing  and  they 
seized  Fortino,  had  him  up  on  shoulders  (a  task 
fraught  with  difficulty),  and  bore  him  triumphantly 
to  and  fro  amidst  tumult. 

"  Anastasio, "  said  Francisco,  looking  on  dubiously, 
"this  triumph  of  Fortino's  is  treason  to  us." 

"  He  will  come  to  a  bad  end,"  drawled  Anastasio. 

There  were  to  be  a  few  hours'  sleep  for  the 
soldiers  before  the  march  to  Ocotlan.  Vicente  at 
length  returned  to  the  meson.  He  found  Clarita 
there  waiting  for  him  and  trembling.  It  was  there 
he  bade  her  good-by,  lingering  long  with  her.  She 
was  very  sad  when  she  finally  turned  away.  He 
had  but  left  her  when  Pcpa,  excitement  still  high  in 


A    DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 


95 


her,  met  him  in  the  barely  lit  corrector.  She  threw 
her  arms  round  his  neck. 

"Vicente!"  she  cried,  "I  am  going  with  the 
army ! " 

He  grew  pale. 

"My  horse  is  the  best  of  them  all,"  cried  she,  the 
feverish  burning  of  the  eyes  and  temples  visible 
again.  "  And  I  cannot  stay !  I  am  made  for  this. 
Call  it  wild  they  may  —  but  I  am  wild.  Already 
the  soldiers  rallied  round  me.  I  can  be  the  spirit 
of  it ! " 

"  Pepa  —  Pepita !     What  mad  dream  is  this !  " 

She  broke  away  and  ran  to  her  room,  laughing 
over  her  shoulder  at  him. 

"I  am  going!"  cried  she,  and  disappeared. 

He  knew  too  well  that  the  thing  on  which  she  set 
her  heart  she  did. 


CHAPTER   II 

THERE  was  no  sign  of  dawn  over  the  eastern 
waters,  and  the  crowd  had  dispersed  and  left 
silence,  when  a  candle  was  lit  in  Fortino's  hut. 
Fortino's  hut  was  on  the  beach,  like  those  of  the 
other  fishers;  and  it  was  so  small  and  so  frail, 
being  made  of  reeds,  that  it  trembled  to  its  founda 
tions  at  the  very  approach  of  the  monster  who  lived 
in  it.  It  seemed  there  need  be  no  surprise  should 
his  head  burst  through  the  thatch,  or  an  arm  or  a 
great  leg  be  heard  crashing  in  the  walls.  He  was 
again  chuckling,  smotheredly,  and  the  very  bristling 
folds  on  the  back  of  his  neck  were  damp  with  per 
spiration.  Some  new  things  in  the  way  of  possible 
deeds  and  honor  had  come  into  the  brain  of  Fortino, 
and  the  vistas  of  war  were  opened  up  to  him. 

A  rollicking  song  came  unsteadily  along  the 
beach,  interrupted  by  an  occasional  hiccough.  It 
echoed  crazily  in  the  night,  and  came  nearer.  It 
quite  entered  Fortino's  hut,  and,  with  it,  the  singer 
came  too.  Francisco's  eyes  were  observed  staring 
at  the  light,  and  Francisco's  broad  grin  became  a 
prominent  furnishing  of  the  bare  hovel.  Some 
distance  over  his  head  Anastasio's  became  visible, 
blinking,  sleepy.  Fortino  sat  down  heavily  on  the 
floor. 

"A  traitor  shall  not  repose!"  cried  Francisco. 
"Anyhow,  not  while  there  are  things  like  this! 
Sh !  Look.  What  do  you  think  of  this  for  spoils?  " 


A    DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  97 

He  whispered  it  with  husky  intensity,  and  held 
out  something  that  glittered  in  his  hand. 

"Don't  take  the  spoils,  now,  Fortino,"  whined 
Anastasio.  "They  are  his.  To  him  be  the  reward." 
And  he  came  in  and  lay  down  with  his  feet  out  of 
the  door  and  his  head  against  the  opposite  wall. 
He  had  left  a  blanket  and  a  roll  of  nets  outside. 

Fortino  looked  more  closely.  The  thing  was  an 
inkstand  with  a  little  silver  on  it.  The  significance 
of  this  possession  broke  on  Fortino.  He  stared 
long  at  it,  growing  red. 

"St.  Francis!"  muttered  he. 

"Sh!"  said  Francisco.  "It  is  out  of  thejefe's 
office.  Ha!  ha!  All  things  are  to  be  made  pub- 
lie!  Spoils  to  him  that  can  get  them,"  lowering 
his  voice.  "Corn?  Why,  corn  isn't  going  to 
count ! " 

"Do  you  curs  mean  to  say,"  said  Fortino,  "that 
what  we  can  find  we  get?  " 

"Why,  curse  me,"  cried  Francisco,  injured, 
"isn't  it  war?" 

"Si,  and  peace  and  a  blessing  go  with  it,"  said 
Anastasio,  eying  the  silver.  "  Let  peace  be  with 
the  war." 

"Men,"  said  Fortino,  meditating,  "you  are  given 
over  to  unworthy  thoughts.  Besides,  what  is  the 
thing  worth? " 

Francisco  became  knowing,  shrewd. 

"I  don't  know  what  this  one  will  be  worth.  This 
war  maybe  worth  millions;  it  may  be  only  thous 
ands.  But  I  do  know,  si,  senor,  I  know  exceedingly 
well  that  wars  there  have  been  that  would  dazzle  a 
fellow's  eyes,  that  there  have.  Men,  there  were 
wars  in  Rome." 

And  he  elevated  his  nose. 

7 


98  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

"Where  is  that?"  inquired  Anastasio  with  in 
terest. 

"  Rome  is  a  country  of  kings,"  said  Francisco. 

"To  the  north?"  said  Anastasio,  politely. 

"  It  is  —  it  is  an  island,"  said  Francisco. 

"A  fishing  country,"  put  in  Fortino  with  author 
ity.  "  It  is  among  the  Triquis.  I  was  in  that 
direction  once.  It  is  south." 

"Oh,  ignorance!"  groaned  Francisco.  "This  is 
not  that  Rome.  This  one  is  farther  off.  Well, 
there  was  a  fellow  came  down  on  Rome.  He  came 
up  over  the  mountains,  which  were  of  considerable 
heights.  And  a  battle  was  fought,  called  —  the 
battle  was  called  —  Hannibal  was  the  battle  called." 

"Si,  scnor !  It  is  the  name  of  the  place,"  broke 
in  Fortino  with  anger,  and  beating  the  soil  with  his 
fist.  "And  it  is  among  the  Triquis.  I  have  been 
nigh  to  it.  A  fair  sized  village  is  Hannibal  — for  an 
Indian  village.  The  houses  there  are  round,  made 
of  cane.  I  am  some  travelled,  senor.  I  am  well 
posted  on  Rome,  having  been,  I  tell  you  again,  in  that 
direction  once  on  a  burro."  And  Fortino  growled 
and  grumbled  away  over  his  Rome  in  high  dudgeon. 

"You  won't  be  convinced?  This,  I  tell  you,  is 
another  Rome  further  off !  And  do  you  know  what 
spoils  they  gathered  up  after  the  battle?" 

"The  Triquis  are  an  ordinary  set.  They  are  a 
measly  tribe,  the  Triquis,"  said  Fortino.  "I 
wouldn't  build  much  on  any  spoils  out  of  the 
Triquis." 

"Triquis!"  burst  out  Francisco  in  hot  wrath. 
"  This  is  Rome !  Rome  is  no  Triqui !  " 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  said  Fortino,  nodding  his  head 
and  speaking  with  calm  assurance.  "  I  tell  you  I 
was  there,  and  their  houses  are  round." 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  99 

"Oh,  come  to  the  spoils,  Francisco,"  complained 
Anastasio,  sitting  painfully  erect  and  waiting. 

"  I  defy  you  to  make  an  estimate,"  cried  Francisco. 
"  Guess  now." 

"  Was  it  silver  pesos,  or  was  it  gold  ? "  inquired 
Anastasio. 

"The  Triquis  have  no  gold, "put  in  Fortino,  stub 
bornly.  "  It 's  rare  they  get  silver  even.  They  are 
too  far  west  in  the  wild  parts.  They  do  their  trad 
ing  in  corn,  the  Triquis." 

"These,  I  tell  you,"  said  Francisco,  "were  an 
island  of  kings  —  farther  off." 

"  Si,"  said  Fortino,  "there  is  a  fishing  island  west 
of  the  Triquis." 

"Oh,  come  to  the  spoils!"  cried  Anastasio,  in 
exasperation,  getting  up.  "Was  \kpesos?" 

"Friends,"  replied  Francisco,  his  face  lit  with 
calm,  triumphant  happiness,  "they  gathered  up, 
after  the  battle  of  Hannibal  in  Rome,  one  bushel  of 
gold  rings ! " 

There  was  some  silence,  Anastasio  staring  with 
shining  eyes. 

"  Hm ! "  said  Fortino  at  length, — "nose  rings. 
Don't  build  on  any  Indian  nose  rings.  I  don't  call 
to  mind  that  the  Triquis  wore  nose  rings.  But  I  '11 
wager  you  on  this :  if  a  bushel  of  nose  rings  was 
ever  gathered  up  out  of  that  measly  tribe  of  Indians 
they  were  brass." 

"These  were  not  brass,"  contradicted  Francisco. 
"And  what  is  more,  they  were  finger  rings." 

"Francisco,"  said  Anastasio,  with  some  plaintive- 
ness,  "  is  this  a  true  thing?  " 

"  It  is  a  part  of  history, "  said  Francisco.  "  Clarita 
read  it  to  me  out  of  a  book." 

Fortino  was  greatly  taken  aback. 


TOO  A   DREAM   OF  A    THRONE 

V 

"Oh,"  said  he,  "if  it  came  out  of  a  book."  He 
began  to  look  on  Francisco  with  more  interest.  "  Is 
that  a  fact?  In  the  books,  eh?  Well,  maybe  it  is. 
I  won't  go  against  the  books.  I  never  heard  of  any 
such  thing  out  of  the  Triquis.  Well  —  if  she  read 
it  out  of  a  book." 

Anastasio  was  at  the  door. 

"There  is  no  doubt  about  their  being  gold,  Fran 
cisco?  "  queried  he. 

"They  were  pure  gold,"  said  Francisco  with 
importance. 

Anastasio  sighed  heavily,  and  went  out  and  gath 
ered  his  nets  in  his  arms.  He  came  to  the  door. 

"  It  was  a  whole  bushel  of  them,  now,  Francisco  ?  " 
he  asked,  dreamily.  "You  wouldn't  lie  to  me, 
amigo  ?  " 

"A  full  bushel  of  pure  gold  rings  —  and  this  was 
only  a  small  part  of  the  spoils." 

Fortino  was  still  sitting  staring  up  at  the  narrator. 
Anastasio  sighed  again,  and  went  with  the  roll  of 
nets  to  the  far  corner. 

"Let  them  stay  here,  Fortino,  till  the  day  when 
I  return,"  said  he. 

"Where  in  the  name  of  the  devil  are  you  going?" 
grumbled  Fortino,  like  a  man  irritably  convinced. 

"To  the  wars,"  said  Anastasio,  with  sentiment. 

"Are  you  two  fellows  going  to  the  wars?" 
inquired  Fortino,  eying  them  both. 

They  made  no  direct  reply. 

"They  gathered  them  up  right  off  of  the  ground," 
said  Francisco  at  length,  like  one  seeing  the  vision 
of  it, — "just  gathered  them  up.  No  trouble  at 
all  filling  the  bushel, — just  gathered  them  right 
up." 

Anastasio  dropped  the  net  in  the  corner. 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  101 

"Ah,"  sighed  he,  "it  is  more  lucrative  than 
fishing." 

They  all  pondered  on  it  for  an  hour,  chiefly  in 
silence,  and  the  first  streaks  of  the  dawn  found  them 
pondering  on  it. 

"I  don't  count  on  or  want  the  spoils,"  said 
Fortino,  "but  I  want  to  know  when  he  is  going  to 
start  out  for  Ocotlan." 

"  Before  sun-up. " 

"Well,  come  on,"  said  Anastasio,  leading  the 
way,  swinging  himself  out  and  over  the  sandy  beach 
toward  the  plaza.  The  others  followed,  the  green, 
blue,  and  magenta  of  their  respective  sashes  begin 
ning  to  glimmer  a  trifle  in  the  pale  dawn. 

"Patriotism  is  a  fine  thing,"  said  Francisco, 
sententiously. 

"Wars  are  a  ripe  good  thing,"  observed  Anastasio; 
and  he  added,  going  lankly  on  before:  "St.  Mary 
rewards  him  that  makes  sacrifices." 

Before  sunrise  the  little  force  marched  out  of 
Chapala,  taking  the  lake  read  to  the  east,  in  which 
direction  lay  Mescala  and  Ocotlan.  It  had  slightly 
grown  both  as  to  infantry  and  horse,  the  latter  num 
bering  thirteen.  It  was  in  good  spirits,  to  which 
the  cool,  exhilarating  air  of  the.  morning  added. 
In  the  east,  over  the  water,  hung  the  red  of  the 
coming  sun,  and  the  lake  lay  still  and  glassy,  wait 
ing,  mountains  reflected  in  its  clear  crystal.  A 
quick,  steady  progress  was  maintained  till  nearly 
noon.  Quiroz  rode  before  the  little  force  of  cavalry, 
keen-eyed,  watchful,  reserved.  Vicente,  likewise 
mounted,  followed  the  horse  at  the  head  of  his  foot 
soldiers.  He  was  eager  to  be  on,  now  that  the 
plunge  was  made.  If  Rodrigo's  departure  had  been 
for  the  purpose  of  making  a  stand,  that  stand  could 


102  ./    DREAM   OF  A    THRONE 

not  be  of  effect  against  this  force,  small  as  it  was, 
unless  in  some  way  thtjefe  should  have  much  in 
creased  his  own.  At  the  earliest,  therefore,  Vicente 
expected  no  formidable  opposition  till  he  should  have 
reached  Ocotlan  and  gathered  up  the  forces  await 
ing  him. 

The  band  that  had  joined  him  from  Chapala  num 
bered  less  than  fifty.  They  were  undisciplined, 
and,  in  the  main,  unmounted.  He  had  called  them 
together  in  the  early  dawn,  effected  some  sort  of 
organization,  and  made  of  them  a  company.  He 
had  cast  about  for  a  leader.  Fortino  had  long  been 
known  to  him  as  a  man  of  great  power  and  dogged 
clinging  to  his  purpose.  The  sudden  bold,  though 
unauthorized  act  of  the  stubborn,  hard-headed  mon 
ster,  had  appealed  to  him.  He  believed  him  the 
sort  of  man  from  which  to  make  a  good  soldier. 
He  came  to  a  quick  decision,  mounted  Fortino  on 
one  of  the  few  horses  obtained  in  Chapala,  and  put 
him  at  the  head  of  the  new  force.  Anastasio  and 
Francisco  were  thus  under  the  leadership  of  their 
old  comrade. 

But  the  horse  farthest  in  the  lead  of  all  this 
motley  band  did  not  bear  Quiroz.  There  was  yet 
another  before  him, — a  free,  independent  member 
of  that  army;  one  to  whom  no  military  discipline 
could  or  would  extend.  It  was  the  girl,  Josefa 
Aranja.  With  many  emotions  warring  in  her  she 
had  kept  her  laughing  threat,  suddenly  appearing 
when  the  march  was  ordered,  mounted  on  her  in 
comparable  steed,  waving  her  hand  at  the  army, 
dashing  on  in  front  of  it.  She  wore  a  red  dress,  — 
a  color  she  much  preferred.  She  had  donned  a 
black  rebozo  that,  falling  to  her  shoulders,  did  not 
conceal  her  shining  hair.  She  gave  Vicente  no 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  103 

opportunity  to  expostulate.  She  galloped  away  to 
the  front  as  the  troops  started,  the  ends  of  her 
rebozo  fluttering  in  the  wind  of  her  speed.  She 
was  followed  by  the  glistening  eyes  of  Doroteo 
Quiroz. 

At  first  she  was  joyous,  exultant  in  a  sort  of  bar 
barous  freedom.  She  turned  her  head  and  flashed 
her  smile  at  all  the  line  and  waved  them  on.  She 
fell  back  and  called  to  them,  saying  she  would  lead 
them  into  battle.  She  was  like  a  fascinating  child, 
full  of  a  restless,  consuming  spirit.  When  Vicente, 
for  the  last  time,  pleaded  with  her  not  to  go  on  this 
perilous  course,  she  only  laughed,  and  said  she 
would  win  his  victories  for  him. 

The  soldiers,  in  particular  the  two  hundred  trained 
men  of  Vicente's  own,  caught  the  fair  leader's 
spirit.  The  novelty  of  it  and  her  daring  roused 
enthusiasm.  They  seized  upon  her  as  upon  some 
element  of  luck,  an  embodiment  of  fortune.  She 
appealed  to  their  gaming  instinct  as  she  did  to  that 
of  Quiroz.  She  was  the  thing  to  stake  it  on.  She 
took  the  place  of  a  banner  to  rally  round.  They 
began  at  length  to  cheer  her.  They  threw  up  caps 
and  called  her  "  La  Capitana; "  whereat  she  waved 
at  them  again,  and  kindled  fresh  enthusiasm  with 
her  brilliant  smile  and  her  contagious  laugh.  An 
army  needs  something  to  idolize.  She  had  the 
nature  to  draw  out  its  emotion.  She  could  soon 
become,  thus,  the  idol,  the  centre  of  attraction, 
finally  a  symbol  even  vital  to  it. 

After  a  few  hours  the  dancing  of  her  eyes  ceased, 
and  the  buoyancy  departed  from  her.  The  excite 
ment  had  fed  on  other  things  than  the  exhilaration 
of  thus  riding  on  before.  It  had  been  born  of  a 
dangerous  fire,  and  had  burnt  itself  out.  She  was 


i o4  A   DREAM   OF  A    THRONE 

far  in  the  lead,  and  a  gloom  fell  on  her.  She  rode 
slowly,  one  steady  course,  looking  ahead.  The  sun 
had  lifted  its  yellow  ball  out  of  the  water,  and  was 
half  way  to  the  zenith.  She  stared  into  its  reflected 
image.  Her  face  had  grown  dark.  The  men  behind 
her  inspired  her  no  more,  —  indeed,  they  had  never 
done  so.  Other  dreams  were  hers  as  she  rode  thus, 
and  she  knew  that  the  thing  that  had  led  her  out  on 
this  unwonted  course  was  not  merely  her  wild  nature, 
her  longing  for  action.  It  was  another  and  a 
deeper  thing,  — a  recollection  of  days  that  had  not 
held  Vicente  in  them,  of  a  parting  that  rankled  in 
her  memory.  She  could  be  the  spirit  of  battles  — 
yes,  she  had  that  unusual  nature  that  has  marked 
some  few  women  out  of  the  long  course  of  history. 
But  had  he  who  was  the  leader  of  the  troops  behind 
her  been  another,  would  the  enthusiasm  have  gone 
out  and  the  gloom  come?  She  laughed  a  mirthless 
scorn  of  herself.  She  heard,  then,  Quiroz's  voice 
behind  her.  Unconsciously  she  had  let  his  horse 
men  come  nearer  her,  and  he  had  reached  her  side 
unawares. 

"Why  did  the  spirit  of  the  strange  one  suddenly 
die?"  said  he,  glittering  on  her.  "What  is  it  that 
lives  hidden  in  you?  Pepa,  there  is  no  man  in  the 
wide  world  can  read  you.  But,  believe  it,  there  is 
one  that  knows  your  powers.  Quiroz,  if  it  please 
you  to  hear,  is  that  one.  What  need  the  army  fear? 
Ha!  —  listen."  He  came  closer  and  whispered  it, 
fastening  his  eyes  on  her.  "Even  though  the 
centre  of  it  were  killed,  the  scheme  could  live  on. 
Though  the  leader  died  —  what  were  even  that  ? 
Pepa  and  one  servant  of  hers,  who  knows  her,  could 
yet  do  all  things." 

She  turned  her  face  to  him,  flashed  a  contempt  of 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  105 

that  daring  speech,  and,  saying  nothing,  rode  away 
from  him. 

Shortly  before  noon  they  arrived  at  Mescala.  It 
was  but  a  collection  of  mud  huts  about  an  irregular 
and  gaunt  square,  wherein  a  few  lean  pigs  squealed 
for  the  food  they  were  not  likely  to  receive.  The 
lack  of  corn  had  fallen  heavily  on  this  region. 
Behind  the  town  were  many  fields  in  the  mountains 
which  had  been  wont  to  sustain  a  scattered  popula 
tion  of  whom  Mescala  represented  only  the  centre. 
The  hand  of  want  had  drawn  out  such  military 
powers  as  the  district  possessed.  Vicente  had  not 
been  mistaken  in  the  number  of  soldiers  there  to 
be  obtained.  There  were  three  hundred  armed 
men,  including  seven  horsemen,  awaiting  him  in 
the  square,  under  the  leadership  of  a  gray-headed 
old  fighter  called  Pancho.  The  two  bodies  shouted 
greeting  to  one  another  and  coalesced.  Dinner  was 
eaten  at  that  place.  Vicente,  who  had  been  watch 
ing  Fortino's  manoeuvring  of  his  small  band,  and 
who  was  always  on  the  look-out  for  a  leader  of  merit, 
had  been  pleased  with  the  conduct  of  the  giant. 
He  gave  him,  in  addition,  a  minority  of  Pancho's 
men. 

The  march  was  speedily  renewed.  The  long 
hours  of  the  sunny  afternoon,  coloring  the  lake 
white,  then  yellow,  then  pink,  saw  the  advancing 
column  ever  on  the  lake's  shore,  and  ever  nearer 
Ocotlan.  Evening  came  on,  and  the  low  walls  of 
that  town  appeared,  lit  with  the  light  of  sunset. 

Round  about  this  village  the  mountains  somewhat 
give  way,  leaving  a  plain.  Through  the  plain's 
middle  and  by  the  town  runs  a  small  stream  that, 
issuing  from  the  lake,  makes  away  on  its  long 
course  to  the  Pacific.  The  army  entered  this  plain 


106  A   J^KKAM    Of'  .1     THRONE 

when  the  sun  was  near  the  western  horizon.  It 
marched  for  a  mile  over  a  wide  road,  cut  straight 
through  unfenced  fields  of  green  corn.  The  stalks 
stood  dense  on  either  side,  but  were  of  a  sickly 
growth,  the  rains  of  the  past  summer  having  been 
light.  The  mile  being  nearly  traversed,  the  column 
issued  into  a  bare  space  of  some  one  hundred  yards' 
width,  crossed  that  and  came  to  the  stream.  The 
banks  were  not  steep.  The  bed  was  some  thirty 
yards  in  width,  but  the  water  occupied  only  some 
four  of  the  thirty  at  the  farther  shore.  All  the  rest 
of  the  space  between  the  two  low  and  sandy  banks 
was  level,  dry,  and  gravel-covered.  The  column 
descended  into  this  bed,  crossed  it,  waded  the 
shallow  stream,  climbed  the  other  bank,  and  pro 
ceeded  toward  Ocotlan's  adobe  houses,  which  stood 
immediately  at  hand.  The  town  made  no  defence; 
it  could  not.  Indeed  it  was  already  occupied  by 
Vicente's  allies.  The  head  of  the  troops  coming  to 
the  first  street,  was  met  by  a  hasty  messenger  from 
the  presidcntc  of  the  town  council,  who,  fearful  and 
with  no  troops,  made  haste  to  surrender.  The  sur 
render  was  no  more  than  received  when  there  came 
dashing  along  the  Mescala  road  a  boy  on  foot.  He 
was  Pancho's  son.  He  brought  the  news,  pantingly, 
that  a  body  of  cavalry  had  eaten  dinner  in  Mescala 
and  were  pursuing  him;  they  would  arrive  at  once. 
The  youth  had  slipped  away,  and,  believing  himself 
the  especial  object  of  that  cavalry's  hate,  had  run 
the  whole  distance  with  all  his  speed,  so  marvellous 
is  the  endurance  of  many  an  Indian  lad.  He  was 
too  excited  to  have  gained  any  idea  of  the  number 
of  the  enemy.  All  efforts  failed  to  elicit  even  the 
most  unsatisfactory  estimate.  Pepa  had  ridden  to 
him  while  he  delivered  his  message. 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  107 

"  Was  the  leader  white  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Si!  Si!"  was  the  reply. 

She  turned  her  horse  away  and  rode  alone  to  the 
river. 

Preparation  was  speedily  made  for  battle.  It  was 
determined  to  hold  the  bank  of  the  stream  next  the 
town.  The  Ocotlan  troops,  gathered  to  join  Vicente, 
were  immediately  sent  for.  They  came  out  of  the 
street  on  the  double  quick.  There  were  some  two 
hundred  and  sixty  of  them,  including  but  six  horse. 
The  secret  organization  effected  by  the  church's 
powers  had  so  far  been  thorough.  Vicente  saw 
himself  at  once  at  the  head  of  more  than  eight  hun 
dred  men,  the  expected  number.  They  were  undis 
ciplined  save  for  his  original  two  hundred,  but  he 
mustered  his  skill  in  their  disposition.  His  cavalry 
now  numbered  twenty-six.  With  Quiroz  at  their 
head  he  placed  them  to  the  fore  at  the  stream, 
extended  in  a  single  line.  Behind  them,  on  the 
flat  between  stream  and  town,  he  drew  up  his  foot. 
He  ordered  earthworks  to  be  thrown  up;  but  the 
work  of  so  doing  was  scarcely  begun  when  the 
enemy  came. 

When  Don  Rodrigo,  with  his  eleven  men,  rode 
out  of  Chapala  the  night  before,  it  was  not  his  pur 
pose  permanently  to  abandon  the  field.  True,  he 
did  not  wish  for  war;  yet  he  had  followed  Vicente's 
movements  with  deep  interest.  He  had  early  seen 
that  the  uprising  should  be  crushed  at  once,  and, 
being  republican  to  his  heart's  core,  had  at  times 
felt  some  glow  of  desire  to  crush  it.  He  was  a 
personal  friend  of  the  governor,  and  possessed,  he 
knew,  the  confidence  and  good-will  of  that  somewhat 
weak  executive  as  did  none  other  of  the  police  of 
the  lake  region.  Perceiving  the  danger  to  grow 


io$  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

more  threatening,  and  the  sapped  and  tottering  State 
to  remain  impotent,  he  had,  a  week  earlier,  addressed 
a  long  and  appealing  letter  to  the  governor.  He 
had  laid  the  whole  situation  before  him,  urged  the 
need  of  immediate  action,  reminded  him  of  the 
powerlessness  of  the  few  country  police,  and  finally, 
with  what  eloquence  he  could  master,  called  for  a 
body  of  troops,  however  small,  to  be  at  once  de 
spatched,  that  the  revolt  might  die  in  its  infancy. 
He  freely  offered  his  own  services  to  lead  the  attack 
should  no  better  leader  be  at  hand,  at  the  same 
time  declaring  himself  not  eager  for  the  duty. 

The  governor  was  a  man  of  nearly  shattered 
nerves.  He  was  drawn  this  way  and  that,  buffeted 
by  many  waves  of  the  national  turbulency.  He 
lacked  decision  and  promptness.  There  were  many 
other  calls  for  troops,  seeming  as  urgent  as  Rodrigo's 
own.  The  State  was  poor  to  penury.  Already  the 
panic-stricken  executive  had  been  called  upon  to 
create  soldiers  where  no  soldiers  were.  He  was  at 
his  wits'  end.  There  had  come  no  reply  to  Rod 
rigo's  letter. 

The  jefe  had  written  again,  and,  when  Vicente 
reached  Chapala,  he  determined  to  wait  no  longer. 
He  would  go  straight  to  Guadalajara,  urge  his  cause 
in  person,  secure  what  troops  he  could,  and  return. 
He  did  not  wish  the  leadership.  But  he  would  take 
it  should  the  State  furnish  no  other  for  the  place. 

In  the  middle  of  the  morning,  therefore,  he  was 
riding  with  his  eleven  on  the  Guadalajara  road. 
He  perceived  before  him  a  cloud  of  dust,  which, 
somewhat  dissolving,  displayed  a  little  band  of 
horsemen  approaching  him.  He  halted,  and  the 
leader  of  that  band,  meeting  him,  gave  him  a  paper 
with  the  governor's  seal  thereon. 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  109 

"My  one  friend  in  many  troubles,"  it  read  in 
formally,  "you  have  saved  me  in  this  sea  before; 
you  will  do  it  now.  You  talk  of  leaders  and  troops 
as  though  I  could  raise  them  from  the  dust.  I  am 
driven  to  insanity  with  the  distracting  calls  on  the 
resourceless  State.  You  are  leader  enough;  there 
is  no  other.  Kill  the  Chapala  revolt  for  me  and  my 
gratitude  is  eternal.  I  send  you  thirty  horsemen. 
You  want  more,  but  they  are  not  to  be  had.  Why  ? 
Because  of  mobs  we  have  plenty,  of  armies  none. 
The  government  has  gotten  itself  mixed  in  a  war 
with  the  United  States.  I,  as  every  other  State  of 
the  Republic,  am  sapped  of  troops.  I  create  you 
captain  of  this  band.  Add  what  gendarmes  you 
can.  Strike  quick,  and  I  trust  you." 

Thirty  men!  Rodrigo  scanned  them  with  some 
thing  like  humor  in  his  eyes.  If  he  must  be 
launched  into  a  small  war  of  his  own  —  heigh-ho!  — 
let  us  at  it!  His  army  was  infinitesimal,  but  he 
recalled  that  Vicente's  two  hundred  were  nearly  all 
foot.  Forty-two  horsemen,  he  believed,  did  they 
strike  at  once,  fearlessly,  would  effectually  paralyze 
the  revolt;  for  they  were  well  armed  with  sabres 
and  short  guns.  He  ordered  a  return  to  the  lake. 
The  men  cheered  him,  and  the  gallop  to  Mescala 
was  begun. 

He  who  had  been  the  leader  of  the  thirty  assumed, 
henceforth,  a  position  somewhat  like  that  of  first 
lieutenant  to  Rodrigo.  He  was  named  Bonavidas. 
He  was  a  large  man,  with  very  broad  shoulders,  but 
a  frame  exceedingly  bony.  His  legs  and  arms  were 
very  long.  The  most  striking  detail  of  his  appear 
ance  was  a  peculiar  sickliness,  even  haggardness  of 
countenance.  He  was  at  times  frightfully  pale,  and 
breathed  like  one  in  exhaustion.  His  expression 


no  A   DREAir  OF  A    THRONE 

was  uncanny.  These  characteristics  were  all  the 
more  curious  when  it  was  seen  that  a  good  humor 
(somewhat  infernal),  expressed  by  a  haggard  smile, 
was  his  usual  mood;  and  that  he  seemed  ever  power 
ful,  more  so,  indeed,  the  more  sickly  was  his  face. 
Rodrigo  studied  this  anomaly  of  a  man  as  they 
rode.  He  believed  he  had  here  an  ally  such  as  he 
needed. 

"  Bonavidas,"  said  he  at  last,  "you  do  not  look 
like  a  man  to  hunt  fighting." 

"If  every  other,"  said  Bonavidas,  smiling  his 
ghostly  smile,  and  expressing  his  eagerness  by  a 
flapping  of  his  lank  knees  against  the  saddle,  his 
mind  characteristically  lingering  over  the  unclean 
thought,  —  "  if  every  other  be  as  lively  a  corpse  as 
I,  we  shall  soon  be  digging  graves  for  the  living." 

They  arrived,  at  some  time  between  the  hours  of 
ten  and  eleven,  at  the  ridge  overlooking  the  lake. 
That  beautiful  expanse  of  water  lay  shimmering  in 
the  white  light. 

"A  pretty  place  to  spoil  with  trouble,"  said 
Bonavidas.  "The  shores  are  as  handsome  as  the 
water.  And  what  is  that  spot  that  lies  out  there 
in  the  middle?" 

"  An  island,"  said  Rodrigo.  "  And  a  spot  haunted. 
There  is  never  a  Mexican  thinks  of  the  beauty  of 
that ;  he  dreams  only  of  its  ghosts  and  steers  in  the 
other  direction.  They  say  it  is  long  since  cursed, 
and  the  devil  has  it." 

"An  attractive  idea,"  said  Bonavidas.  "What  is 
on  it?" 

"Ruins  of  a  Spanish  prison,"  returned  Rodrigo. 

They  had  descended  from  the  ridge's  summit, 
and,  for  a  time,  the  lake  disappeared.  They  issued 
at  last  on  its  borders  and  made  a  short  halt  at 


A  DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  in 

Mescala,  where,  the  town  being  nearly  deserted,  it 
was  found  impossible  to  learn  the  number  of  those 
who  had  passed  before;  for  the  populace  of  the 
country  districts  are  often  found  to  be  in  total 
ignorance  of  numbers.  A  steady  trot  was  then 
entered  upon,  which  brought  that  small  body  of 
cavalry  to  the  corn-covered  plain  about  Ocotlan 
shortly  before  the  sun,  a  red  and  fiery  ball,  touched 
the  horizon's  line. 

Emerging  into  the  wide  road  between  the  fields 
of  grain,  more  than  one  eye  detected  the  line  of 
battle  yonder  under  the  walls  of  the  town  with  the 
river  before  it.  Rodrigo  halted  his  men.  The  corn 
was  not  high,  and  the  horsemen  could  see  over  its 
mile  of  extent.  A  sudden  silence  fell  on  them. 
They  sat  and  scanned  that  opposing  force  for  one 
short  minute;  then  they  looked  at  each  other.  Its 
extraordinary  one  day's  growth  astounded  even 
Rodrigo.  His  face  grew  white,  but  he  shut  his 
jaws  and  flinched  not.  He  saw  a  band  of  cavalry 
which  seemed  not  greatly  inferior  to  his  own. 
Behind  it,  deployed  in  a  single  compact  line,  he 
perceived  nearly  eight  hundred  foot.  He  believed 
he  detected  Vicente's  form,  mounted,  in  front  of 
the  division  of  the  left.  The  leader  of  the  centre 
he  did  not  recognize.  On  his  enemy's  right  he  saw 
a  division  headed  by  an  enormous  man  whom  he 
believed,  yet  could  scarcely  believe,  to  be  the  fisher 
man  Fortino.  He  looked  more  closely,  and  decided 
it  was  he.  He  knew  Fortino  to  be  unskilled  as  a 
leader.  That  right  division  appeared,  too,  a  trifle 
weaker  than  the  others.  Lastly,  it  was  nearest  the 
street's  end  leading  into  the  town.  Rodrigo  swept 
the  front  with  quick  eyes,  seized  upon  these  facts, 
steeled  his  nerves,  and  made  his  plans  at  once. 


ii2  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

He  turned  to  his  men,  calmly,  leisurely.  He  smiled 
a  cool,  humorous  smile  at  them. 

"  Are  you  afraid  ?  "  said  he. 

Their  awe  at  the  superior  force  fled  at  once. 
They  declared  for  the  dash.  He  knew  his  dangers 
and  his  powers,  but  did  not  hesitate. 

"We  will  meet  the  cavalry  with  a  shock  it  will 
never  forget,"  he  commanded.  "Ride,  brothers, 
every  one  of  you  a  demon.  We  will  crush  the 
horse.  We  then  plunge  through  their  right  wing 
of  infantry,  cut  it  in  two,  and  gain  the  street.  We 
will  then,  with  the  protection  of  its  narrowness, 
hold  it  against  the  entrance  of  the  infantry,  whose 
lines  in  a  street  can  be  no  wider  than  are  ours. 
Come;  your  lives  and  victory  depend  on  crushing 
the  horse,  and  one  blow  will  do  it." 

He  saw  a  wavering  smile  play  over  Bonavidas' 
pale  face,  and  the  relish  that  odd  person  had  for 
this  deed  of  danger  was  unmistakable.  One  minute 
only  had  been  occupied  in  the  survey.  In  one  more 
the  forty-two  were  deployed  in  corn-fields,  the  line's 
middle  resting  on  the  road. 

The  word  of  command  was  on  Rodrigo's  lips,  but 
he  did  not  utter  it.  He  saw,  in  that  moment,  issu 
ing  from  his  enemy's  ranks,  a  horse  at  whose  saddle 
fluttered  a  crimson  dress.  It  was  Pepa,  and  he  sud 
denly  knew  her.  She  dashed  down  into  the  stream 
and  came  on. 

That  unexpected  movement  had  taken  Vicente 
completely  by  surprise.  He  had  tried  to  induce 
her  to  retire  into  the  town.  She  had  persisted  in 
remaining  on  the  field,  though  to  the  rear  and  out 
of  the  probable  range  of  shots.  Vicente,  now 
absorbed  in  the  concentration  of  his  powers,  was 
suddenly  amazed  to  perceive  that  she  had  already 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  113 

burst  through  the  line  of  infantry  at  a  point  distant 
from  him,  and  crossed  the  stream.  She  was  a  hun 
dred  yards  to  the  front  before  he  realized  it.  He 
called  after  her.  He  commanded  her.  He  started 
away,  spurring  his  horse,  to  force  her  back.  He 
heard  Quiroz's  voice  behind  him  cry: 

"  Let  her  alone !  She  will  walk  barefoot  over 
burning  hell  before  she  die — let  her!" 

Vicente  perceived  that  his  enemy  was  waiting. 
He  knew  that  only  brute  force  and  a  disgraceful 
scene  could  make  her  return,  even  should  he  over 
take  her  —  and  her  horse  was  superior  to  his.  He 
heard  the  army  behind  him  burst  into  enthusiasm 
for  her  daring;  knew  that  to  hamper  this  their 
inspiration  would  be  a  military  mistake.  He  realized 
that  the  fight  was  waiting  on  her;  that  his  men  had 
come  to  trust  that  this  untamable  woman  carried 
with  her  her  own  safety.  Chagrined,  he  was  forced 
back.  He,  as  Rodrigo,  held  his  men  and  waited. 
His  troops  were  shouting: 

"Viva  la  Capitana !  Viva  la  Capitana!" 

The  girl  did  not  heed.  Seeing  she  was  not  pur 
sued,  she  suddenly  slackened  speed.  She  rode 
slowly  on,  her  horse  stepping  proudly,  majestically. 
She  came  in  between  the  two  fields  of  corn  and 
halted  not.  Her  black  rebozo 's  ends  waved  behind 
her  in  the  rising  evening  breeze.  The  last  of  the 
sunlight,  piercing  the  field  of  grain,  cast  its  hori 
zontal  beams  on  the  red  of  her  dress  and  barred  it 
with  lines  of  shadow,  so  that  the  crimson,  as  she 
went,  flickered  and  flashed  with  a  thousand  inter 
mittent  rays  of  light.  The  tasselled  stalks  whis 
pered  and  waved  in  air.  She  held  the  two  forces 
motionless.  Her  eyes,  deep  burning,  were  bent 
before  her.  Blood  suffused  her  face,  and  the  ex- 

8 


ii4  A   DREAM   OF  A    THROXK 

citcmcnt,  repressed,  showed  itself  only  in  eyes  and 
lips. 

In  the  universal  silence  she  came  thus  to  a  point 
half  way  between  the  two  troops.  She  halted  her 
horse  and  turned  a  little  sidewise.  She  could  see 
Rodrigo  before  her.  She  looked  and  saw  Vicente 
behind  her.  Her  face  became  suddenly  bloodless, 
and  the  corn-fields  seemed  swaying  and  circling 
round  her.  She  recovered  herself,  gathering  her 
strength,  and  looked  at  the  two  ways.  Their  lengths 
were  equal.  Their  widths  and  smoothness  were  the 
same.  It  was  as  far  to  Vicente  as  to  Rodrigo  —  the 
one  was  to  her  right,  the  other  to  her  left.  The  wide 
path  through  the  fields  led  straight  to  either.  She 
would  not  turn  her  horse  east  or  west.  He  was 
champing  his  bit.  She  loosed  the  reins  and  let 
him  have  his  will,  her  hand  trembling  as  she  did 
so.  Even  in  her  the  spirit  of  gaming  lived.  She 
watched  her  steed  with  fear  concentrated  in  her 
great  eyes.  He  turned  and  went  on  in  the  direction 
she  had  been  going.  A  delirium  of  haste  seized 
her.  She  spurred  him  and  dashed  toward  the  horse 
men  of  Rodrigo.  She  bent  over,  her  face  a  face  of 
flame,  and  urged  him  on.  She  drew  up  with  a 
quick  and  reckless  wheeling  of  her  steed  before  the 
leader.  He  had  advanced  some  ten  paces  to  meet 
her.  She  looked  at  him  haughtily,  but  her  eyes  spoke 
her  spirit.  She  bent  them  on  him  and  said,  low: 

"What  is  it  you  have  for  me? " 

"Nothing,"  said  he,  his  face  still  whiter. 

A  wave  of  anger  and  shame  burst  on  hei.  She 
shot  a  look  of  hate  at  him,  wheeled,  and  dashed 
back  so  quickly  that  the  troops  who  idolized  her 
could  not  have  known  even  that  she  had  come  so 
near  the  chief  of  their  enemies. 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  115 

She  galloped  toward  the  river,  hearing  the  jefe 's 
sharp  cry  of  charge.  She  let  her  powerful  horse 
put  out  all  his  speed  and  flew  down  toward  Vicente's 
forces,  the  sound  of  the  galloping  cavalry  behind 
ringing  in  her  ears.  She  neared  the  stream  and 
raised  her  hand  high  in  air,  crying: 

"  Follow  me! " 

She  had  one  instant  to  knot  her  flying  rebozo  round 
her  waist,  leaving  her  head  bare.  Then  she  wheeled 
once  more  toward  Rodrigo's  advancing  line. 

It  would  have  been  well  could  Quiroz  have  held 
his  horsemen  on  the  stream's  east  bank,  thus  taking 
his  enemy  at  a  disadvantage  when  that  enemy  should 
cross  and  be  forced  to  mount  it.  But  Vicente  saw 
the  space  between  river  and  town  to  be  too  narrow; 
the  cavalry  was  too  close  to  the  foot.  Did  it  so 
remain  the  foot  would  be  hampered  by  its  presence. 
So,  immediately  on  the  charging  of  Rodrigo's  men, 
he  ordered  a  counter-charge  of  Quiroz' s  twenty-six. 

They  saw  the  girl,  having  come  to  the  stream's 
opposite  bank,  turn  to  iead  that  charge.  Doroteo 
and  his  horsemen  dashed  into  the  stream,  across  the 
gravel  bed,  up  the  other  side,  and  followed  her. 
Rodrigo's  line  had  cut  straight  through  the  trampled 
grain.  He  held  it  compact  and  steady.  He  swung 
down  toward  the  river  with  mighty  force.  He  knew 
the  value  of  one  quick,  projectile-like  charge  at  a 
given  point.  Instinctively  he  adopted  the  tactics 
of  Napoleon,  of  Greene,  of  Forrest.  He  swept  out 
into  the  open  plain  between  corn  and  stream  with 
bursting  speed. 

The  girl  had  fallen  in  with  Ouiroz's  men.  She 
was  at  Doroteo' s  side,  wild  as  an  animal,  leading 
them  on.  The  two  bands  fired  volleys  and  then 
crashed  together  with  terrific  shock.  It  was  hence- 


n6  A   DREAM    OF  A    THRONE 

forth  a  fight  of  sabres,  knives,  or  pistols.  The 
indiscriminate  mass  swayed  for  an  instant  to  and 
fro.  Horses  and  men  went  down.  She  was  in  the 
middle  of  it,  fighting  on,  blindly,  enraged.  She 
scarce  knew  what  she  did.  She  believed  she  aimed 
her  weapon  more  than  once  straight  at  that  white 
leader  who  had  cast  her  back.  But  he  bore  down 
untouched.  His  force  pushed  on  irresistibly,  cut 
ting  or  crushing  as  it  went.  The  inferior  line  of 
Quiroz  slowly  gave  way,  ground,  as  it  were,  over  the 
course  it  had  traversed.  It  fought  with  unabated 
fury.  Quiroz's  shrill  cry,  "Down  with  them! 
Down  with  the  sons  of  Hell ! "  rang  ever  clear  and 
high  over  the  noise  of  battle.  His  men  were  hurled 
to  the  river's  bank  and  down.  Reduced  in  number 
they  still  fought  on.  Rodrigo's  line  crushed  its 
slow  way  into  the  gravel  bed  and  over  it.  He  was 
losing  men;  he  bore  on,  cutting  his  way  with 
demoniacal  desperation. 

He  tried  to  centre  his  powers  on  Quiroz,  to  slay 
that  fierce  fighter.  But  enchantment  went  with 
Quiroz.  He  seemed  to  feel,  in  the  tempest's 
middle,  a  joy,  a  delight  that  was  devilish.  He  held 
a  long  macJiete.  His  every  blow  was  delivered  with 
a  coolness  as  great  as  were  its  power  and  speed. 
His  eyes  glittered  like  coals.  He  was  yet  pressed 
back.  His  line  floundered  for  one  instant  in  the 
waters  of  the  stream,  turned  and  dashed  up  the 
other  bank.  The  girl  was  with  it.  Rodrigo's  men, 
suffering  here  most  severely,  staggered  up  after, 
concentrated  their  power  and  still  pressed  on.  It 
seemed  they  were  cutting  through  solid  iron,  so 
marvellously  did  Quiroz  hold  his  force  together. 
But  that  force  was  crushed  at  last  straight  into  the 
line  of  Fortino's  ri^ht.  There  its  leader  made  an 


A   DREAM   OF  A    THRONE  117 

ultimate  desperate  effort.  He  held  Rodrigo  in 
check  yet  another  minute.  Thejefe  was  gathering 
his  strength  for  the  final  wheel  to  the  left  and  a 
leap  through  the  ranks  of  infantry. 

That  minute  was  enough.  In  it  Vicente  showed 
his  cool  head  and  the  discipline  he  had  ground  into 
his  two  hundred.  He  was  with  that  band  on  his 
line's  left,  whereas  the  fight  of  the  cavalry  was  on 
the  right.  Rodrigo  being  for  an  instant  checked 
by  horse  and  foot,  Vicente  swung  his  two  hundred 
round,  like  the  spoke  of  a  wheel  on  the  hub  of  the 
centre.  The  machine-like  precision  of  his  men  was 
proved.  Rodrigo  was  caught,  as  it  were,  in  the 
trap  of  an  angle.  Vicente's  left  poured  a  sudden 
deadly  hail  on  his  flank.  The  whole  line  was  at 
once  engaged.  Pancho's  centre,  raw  as  they  were, 
broke  on  the  imprisoned/^.  The  State's  horsemen 
went  down  like  grain  in  the  field.  Rodrigo,  driven 
to  his  last  madness,  huddled  the  remnant  of  his 
torn  force,  called  out  the  power  of  every  nerve,  gave 
the  cry  for  the  great  burst,  plunged  like  a  maniac 
through  horse  and  foot,  knocked  the  charging  Fortino 
half  senseless  with  a  blow  from  his  empty  weapon, 
cut  through  the  panic-stricken  right,  as  though  his 
line  had  been  a  line  of  steel,  dealt  death  about, 
left  a  bloody  track  behind,  tore  himself  loose  from 
his  last  antagonist,  and  galloped  away  into  the 
town's  street. 

The  battle,  small  as  it  was,  had  been  inconceiv 
ably  fierce  and  deadly.  Vicente  had  shown,  once 
for  all,  his  coolness,  his  deep  thought,  his  power 
over  men,  though  he  had  so  fearfully  outnumbered 
his  antagonist.  The  flank  fire  of  his  two  hundred 
had  done  terrible  execution,  a  fire  and  a  movement 
directed  with  masterful  genius.  He  had  ridden  up 


n8  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

and  down  his  ranks,  calm.  He  had  no  more  heeded 
the  storm  of  bullets  than  though  it  had  been  a  storm 
of  dust.  He  saw  Fortino,  after  a  brave  dash, 
stagger  back  dazed.  He  saw  the  gray-bearded 
Pancho  with  a  long  wound  opened  on  his  cheek,  and 
the  blood  trickling  down  the  beard,  drip,  drip,  with 
the  flood  that  needs  no  haste.  He  perceived  Bona- 
vidas'  ghastly  countenance,  haggard  as  death,  but 
living  with  a  cruel  joy  as  he  felled  his  antagonists 
with  powerful  arm.  He  poured  in  his  fire,  cut  his 
enemy  down,  then  saw  that  last  charge  of  Rodrigo's 
remnant,  —  the  bursting  asunder  of  Fortino's  right, 
and  the  escape. 

Quiroz's  decimated  cavalry  gathered  itself  together 
and  dashed  at  the  town  in  hot  pursuit.  The  girl 
was  already  far  in  the  lead,  disappearing.  The  red 
ball  of  the  sun  had  gone  down.  The  lake  had 
burned  with  its  last  fire  and  grown  leaden.  The 
night  was  coming  quickly  on.  Rodrigo  had  not 
sufficient  men  remaining  to  make  a  stand,  even  in 
the  street.  He  fled.  That  memorable  battle  was 
fought  and  won. 

The  gray-bearded  Pancho,  as  the  tumult  ceased, 
fell  dead  from  his  steed.  The  stream  and  tin- 
stretch  beyond  and  the  space  before  the  town  were 
strewn  with  slain.  Vicente  had  lost  eighty-seven 
men,  the  scarcely  conceivable,  deadly  effect  of  that 
infuriated  band  of  penned-up  cavalry.  Out  of  the 
forty-one  that  had  followed  the  bold  dash  of  Rodrigo, 
but  a  dozen  cut  their  final  gash  of  blood  through  the 
crushed  right  and  escaped.  Such  was  the  Battle  of 
Ocotlan,  told  yet  with  bated  breath  in  many  a 
fisher's  hut,  remembered  as  a  fight  such  as,  for 
fierceness,  the  lake  had  never  seen  —  will  never  see 
again. 


CHAPTER   III 

WITH  the  setting  sun  rose  clouds  in  the  east  and 
south,  and  lightning  over  the  southern  moun 
tains  was  answered  by  other  lightning  over  the  east 
ern.  The  rumblings  of  distant  thunder  told  of  the 
coming  of  one  of  those  swift  storms  of  rain  and  wind 
that  at  times  follow  the  rainy  seasons  some  weeks 
after  the  daily  summer  storms  have  ceased.  The 
stony  road  from  Mescala  to  Ocotlan,  with  the  moun 
tains  to  its  one  side  and  the  darkening  water  to  the 
other,  was  overcast  with  gloom,  when  there  came 
along  it  toward  the  latter  town  a  single  traveller  on 
foot. 

The  gloom  was  of  that  dull,  weird  kind  that  heavy 
clouds  and  a  lingering  bit  of  sunlight  conspire  to 
produce.  It  could  not  be  many  minutes  till  the  way 
would  be  dark  save  for  the  lightning  flashing  on  the 
road's  rocks  and  the  pedestrian  moving  among  them. 
A  wind  came  out  of  the  south  and  crinkled  all  the 
lake,  and  heavy  blue  waves  began  to  beat  upon  the 
shore.  The  wind  caught  the  skirt  of  the  traveller's 
dress  and  whipped  it,  a  flash  of  pink  when  the  light 
ning  lit  it,  round  young  limbs. 

She  had  seen  the  sun's  red  ball  going  down.  She 
had  heard,  too,  firing  in  the  distance  before  her, 
whereat  she  had  shuddered  at  the  great  burnt  scar 
of  red  the  sun  made  across  the  water's  face.  On  a 
lonely  spot  of  the  shore  near  Mescala  she  had  been 
frightened  by  the  sudden  apparition  of  a  man  loom- 


120  A   DREAAf  OF  A    THRONE 

ing  from  behind  boulders,  and  had  heard  a  boat 
grating  on  the  sand.  Naturally  timid,  she  had 
scudded  away  in  the  light  from  that  very  path  of 
red  across  the  water,  casting  one  glance  behind  her. 
That  glance  had  revealed  to  her  the  man's  face,  lonely 
against  a  background  of  southern  sky  and  clouds,  a 
face  about  which  the  rising  breeze  blew  strands  of 
tangled  hair,  on  whose  forehead  sat  care  or  some 
thing  worse,  and  across  whose  cheek  a  scar  wrenched 
the  features  into  an  expression  that  seemed  to  her 
infernal.  The  sun's  scar  on  the  water  was  nothing  to 
that.  She  ran.  She  came  to  a  rocky  angle  of  the 
road;  turning  to  look  again,  the  figure  had  disap 
peared.  But  she  carried  its  effect  with  her. 

The  firing  before  her  had  not  ceased.  The  sun's 
red  was  nearly  gone  before  she  heard  it  no  more. 
She  was  afraid  of  the  sound,  and  longed  to  know. 
Almost  she  would  have  preferred  the  presence  of  the 
bullets  and  the  sight  of  the  battle  to  this  fearing  un 
certainty.  She  must  hasten  lest  the  night  should  lose 
her.  The  big  empty  world  was  a  strange  thing  to  her. 
What  were  all  its  vastness  and  its  loneliness ;  its  peo 
ple,  its  lands,  its  battles?  Only  let  her  reach  Ocot- 
lan  and  find  him  living  —  what  were  all  these  things? 
It  had  been  dark  like  this,  and  she  had  felt  this  sud 
den  lostness  once  before,  when  they  had  carried  away 
a  body  from  her  hut,  and  there  had  been  no  unrolling 
of  the  nets. 

It  was  black  night  when  she  came  to  the  river's 
bed,  save  for  the  flashes  that  lifted  Ocotlan  out  of  the 
blackness  for  her,  and  burnt  its  adobe  walls.  The 
clouds  were  over  all  the  sky,  and  the  measureless 
curtain  of  the  coming  rain,  had  it  been  day,  would 
have  been  seen  to  hang,  thick  with  torrents,  over  all 
the  south-eastern  lake,  rolling  nearer. 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  121 

She  could  dimly  see  lights  and  people  beyond  the 
stream,  and,  to  the  right  of  the  town,  still  farther, 
fires  as  of  a  camp.  She  found  herself  trembling,  and 
went  down  into  the  bed  of  the  stream.  She  fell 
against  a  great  bulk  lying  on  the  pebbles.  She 
groped  to  the  right  and  the  left,  and  fell  against 
others.  Despairing,  she  wanted  to  weep,  but  could 
not,  and  the  lightning  came  and  showed  her  that  the 
bulks  were  horses  lying  dead.  As  the  lightning  went 
out,  a  white  spot  caught  her  eye.  Whether  it  were  a 
face  she  did  not  know,  but  she  cried  out  smotheredly, 
and  ran  on  by  a  way  the  light  had  shown  her,  straight 
through  the  narrow  strip  of  water,  and  climbed  up 
the  other  bank. 

A  little  way  further  there  were  some  torches  of 
ocote  flaring  yellow,  being  carried  slowly  here  and 
there.  She  came  to  them,  and  the  bearers,  speechless 
women  from  Ocotlan,  saw  her  figure  suddenly  in  their 
midst,  the  wind  wrapping  round  her  the  skirts  the 
stream  had  wet,  and  the  flames  showing  the  gold  of 
her  hair. 

One  of  the  women  wailed  and  turned  away,  and 
there  came  another,  searching,  weeping,  turning  over 
bodies  on  the  ground,  and  crying : 

"  Oh  my  Juan  !     My  Juanito  !     My  nino  !  " 

The  girl  knew  she  was  in  the  midst  of  the  slain. 
She  seized  the  arm  of  the  crying  woman  and 
said : 

" Where  is  the  leader?" 

"  Heaven  knows !  "  was  the  distracted  reply. 

Terrified  at  this,  the  girl  ran  on,  dark  shapes  still 
about  her,  a  groan  there  or  a  curse  here.  A  ribald 
young  female  came  staggering  over  the  field  with  a 
torch  and  a  rag  of  a  flag.  She  was  drunk  and 
singing. 


122  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

"  Dead  !  all  dead  !  "  and  she  laughed  and  sang 
again.  "My  Cenobio  left  me!  He's  dead !"  she 
cried,  seizing  the  traveller's  slim  shoulder  and  leering 
horribly  on  her.  "  He  went  down  —  here  !  "  And 
she  thrust  out  a  thin  arm  tragically  and  pointed  to 
the  field. 

"  Where  is  the  leader,  Vicente  ?  "  gasped  the  other. 

11  Vicente?  Ha  !  "  shrieked  the  first.  "  Oh,  God 
help  him ! "  She  went  staggering  on  among  the 
fallen. 

Shaking  in  every  limb  the  traveller  went  toward 
the  fires.  She  passed  figures  coming  and  going,  and 
bodies  carried.  A  part  of  the  army  was  burying  the 
dead.  She  came  at  length  like  a  quick  shadow  or  a 
leaf  blown  by  the  wind,  to  the  long  line  of  open  air 
camps,  where  the  rest  of  the  troops,  exhausted, 
cooked,  or  lay  on  blankets,  or  gambled  with  tossed 
pennies.  She  scanned  the  line.  He  was  not  there. 
She  ran  along  it,  her  throat  dry.  She  came  at  length 
to  a  row  of  adobe  walls  some  yards  in  front  of  the 
camp.  There  was  one  fire  here,  and  two  men  were 
seated  on  the  ground  leaning  against  the  wall.  They 
were  Anastasio  and  Fortino.  The  relief  at  sight  of 
them  was  so  intense  that,  when  she  cried  to  them,  it 
was  half  a  cry,  half  a  dry  sob.  She  flung  herself 
down  beside  them. 

"  Is  Vicente  dead?"  she  cried. 

11  No,"  said  Anastasio,  without  emotion,  straighten 
ing  a  long  leg  flat  on  the  ground.  "  Why,"  he 
drawled,  suddenly,  a  little  surprised,  "  how  did  you 
get  here?" 

"  I  followed.     Take  me  to  Vicente." 

"  I  think  I  can  do  that,"  muttered  Fortino,  in  grim 
humor.  "  I  can  do  something,  if  I  can't  hold  a  line 
of  horse." 


A  DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  123 

He  arose  and  led  the  girl  away  remorsefully. 

"  Is  my  father  killed?  "  she  had  asked  of  Anastasio. 

"  Oh  Lord,  no,"  drawled  Anastasio. 

Fortino  took  her  into  the  town.  He  muttered  all 
the  way,  deeply,  subterraneously.  They  went  some 
blocks  in  silence,  she  wrapping  her  rebozo  closely 
round  her  head  and  shoulders. 

"  No,"  broke  out  Fortino,  suddenly.  "  No,  they  're 
not  dead.  But  it  is  n't  any  virtue  of  mine.  I  was 
knocked,  I  was.  I  am  no  man,  girl.  I  am  a  burro." 

His  bitterness  was  great.  Parties  of  hastening  sol 
diers  were  scouring  the  streets  and  once  or  twice 
they  saw  where  doors  were  being  burst  open. 

"  They  're  looking  for  the  jefe"  grunted  Fortino, 
"  the  jefe  it  was  my  business  to  stop.  He  and  his 
men  broke  through  me  and  my  drivelling  right. 
They  Ve  found  two  of  his  men,  and  that 's  all  they 
will  find." 

She  said  nothing  to  this.  They  came  to  a  long, 
low  house  with  eaves  projecting  on  the  street.  The 
front  was  flush  with  the  sidewalk,  and  the  windows 
were  barred  with  iron.  A  street-lamp  showed  carved 
lions'  heads  on  the  massive  door.  They  show  the 
place  to  this  day  as  the  house  that  lodged  Vicente 
after  the  battle,  number  fifteen  of  the  Calle  del  Rio ; 
weather-beaten  it  is,  with  its  many-colored  plaster- 
ings  falling  off. 

Fortino  beat  on  the  door  with  a  noise  that  the 
thunder  answered,  for  the  stoTm  was  over  the  town. 
It  was  opened  and  she  was  let  in,  and  Fortino, 
mumbling,  went  away.  The  first  drops  of  the  tor 
rent  fell  on  her  blue  rcboso  before  she  entered. 

Vicente  was  with  the  clergy  on  that  night.  The 
battle  was  called  a  victory,  though  the  leader  was 
chagrined  that  the  jefe  had  escaped  him.  The 


i  24  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

meaning  of  the  fight  and  the  plans  of  the  next  move 
ments  were  to  be  discussed  in  a  parley  in  this,  the 
house  of  a  priest,  over  whose  low,  flat  roof  loomed 
the  towers  of  a  church.  They  were  waiting,  too,  in 
vain,  for  news  of  the  capture  of  the  fugitives.  It  was 
the  priest  himself  who  had  cautiously  opened  the 
door  to  the  girl.  When  he  learned  who  she  was  he 
admitted  her  and  closed  it.  His  full  face  suggested 
a  deep  but  suppressed  glee,  and  in  his  long  sotana 
he  led  her,  rubbing  his  hands  nervously  together  as 
he  went,  along  corridors,  round  a  patio,  to  a  large 
rear  room.  Vicente  was  there  alone.  They  had 
brought  into  that  room  one  of  those  pot-like  port 
able  brascros,  that  he  might  dry  his  garments  by  it; 
for  in  the  manceuvering  of  the  fight  he  had  dashed 
more  than  once  through  the  stream.  The  brasier  sat 
now  in  a  corner  on  the  brick  floor,  its  bed  of  live 
coals  casting  out  a  red  glare.  There  was  a  candle 
on  the  ledge  of  a  deep  window  whereof  the  inner 
wooden  shutters  were  closed  and  barred. 

She  arrived  at  the  room's  door  and  the  priest  left 
her.  A  delight  that  was  agitation  filled  her  as  she 
came  timidly  in.  Her  face  was  beautiful  in  that  mo 
ment,  and  wonderfully  lit.  The  suspense  was  done. 

"Vicente!  "  she  cried,  and  sank  forward,  shaking 
and  sobbing. 

"  My  faithful  one !  "  said  he,  when  his  first  aston 
ishment  was  over,  holding  her  and  making  her  dry 
her  dress  over  the  coals,  "  if  only  the  whole  cause 
had  your  spirit  in  it!  But  why  did  you  come?  I 
left  you  safe.  Pepita's  mother  promised  me  only 
this  morning  that  you  should  be  cared  for.  War  is 
not  for  you." 

"  I  was  lonely,"  said  she ;  "  and,  Vicente,  I  am  a 
woman  now." 


A   DREAM  OF   A    THRONE  125 

He  looked  her  over.  She  was,  indeed,  at  seventeen 
a  woman.  Her  form  had  grown  slightly  fuller  than 
it  was  in  the  old  days.  Her  face,  too,  was  a  woman's 
face,  for  all  its  youth  and  its  dimples  and  the  glistening 
hair  about  it.  It  held  in  it  a  dreaminess  that  made  it 
almost  sad.  He  told  her  so  with  a  pang  in  his  heart. 

"  No,  no  !  "  she  cried,  smiling  at  him.  "  Not  with 
you.  I  was  always  happy  with  you.  Vicente,  I 
could  n't  stay  —  I  could  n't  be  away  when  you  were 
here.  There  is  n't  anything  there  any  more ;  and 
the  very  sight  of  the  nets  and  the  house  made  me 
unhappy." 

"  But  what  can  this  bloody  war,  child,  have  to  do 
with  you  ?  " 

"  I  can  follow  you  —  let  me  !  Oh,  I  am  so  lonely ! 
And  if  you  are  —  if  it  goes  wrong  with  you  —  I  can 
take  care  of  you  then !  " 

'  He  caught  her  to  his  arms  where  she  came  will 
ingly,  and  the  candle-light  lit  moisture  in  his  eye. 
He  sat  down  on  a  chair  still  holding  her. 

"  Little  girl,"  said  he,  looking  into  the  bed  of  coals, 
"  do  you  not  know  how,  in  all  the  struggle  and  the 
fear,  I  remember  and  keep  you  as  the  bright  spot 
behind,  whither  I  shall  return?  Where  all  is  fierce 
ness  I  remember  you  as  gentleness.  Look,"  stretch 
ing  out  his  hand  and  pointing  to  the  fire,  "  I  can 
see  it  all,  merely  looking  at  the  coals.  There  is  your 
face,  luminous.  Some  love  will  come  to  you  some 
day,  now  that  you  are  a  woman,  and  it  will  light 
your  face  like  that.  There  is  the  beach,  too,  and  the 
hut  with  its  poor  little  thatch.  Why,  Clarita,  if  I 
were  in  the  blackest  dungeon  I  could  still  see  the 
waves  that  we  played  by,  and  feel  the  spray,  and 
the  west  wind,  and  my  sister's  hair  tangled  by  it 
and  blown  like  dull  gold  damply  over  my  face." 


126  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

She  could  not  answer  him.  After  a  pause  he 
continued : 

"  And  this  is  why  I  do  not  want  you  to  follow  me, 
that  I  may  run  no  risk  of  losing  you.  Your  poor 
feet  have  come  a  long  way." 

She  put  one  of  them  out  and  looked  at  it  and 
laughed  at  him  a  little. 

"  They  are  very  well,"  said  she. 

They  were  small,  encased  in  the  rough  shoes  that 
the  Chapala  cobbler  made.  The  shoes  were  worn, 
damp,  and  discolored  with  the  journey. 

"  Surely  those  little  things,"  said  he,  "  will  not  bear 
much.  You  should  be  at  home.  It  is  better  than 
this ;  and  I  know  you  have,  under  your  gentleness, 
a  strength."  He  smiled.  "  We  used  to  call  you  stub 
born.  You  would  so  persist  in  doing  that  which  you 
wanted  to  do.  You  can  care  for  yourself  till  a  better 
time.  Your  old  stubbornness  will  not  make  you 
follow  me.  And  if  the  day  comes  when  these  dreams 
are  realities,  what  will  you  have  me  do  for  you 
then?" 

"  Only  so  have  it,"  said  she,  "  that  you  shall  not 
have  to  go  away  any  more.  It  is  very  great,  Vicente, 
to  be  as  you  are.  You  are  not  like  other  men." 

"No,  it  is  not  great;  would  that  I  could  make  it 
so.  If  I  should  die  now,  Clarita,  I  should  be  called 
only  an  adventurer.  Scarcely  a  star,  girl,  shines  on  a 
path  like  mine.  One  victory  cannot  blind  me  to  the 
dark  days  to  come.  I  may  die  like  the  others,  for 
having  lifted  up  my  voice  and  desired  something 
different.  The  world  seems  ever  to  hate  him  who 
disturbs  its  repose." 

She  clasped  her  fingers  together  over  the  charcoal 
and  bent  down  till  its  red  glare  made  her  face  like 
flame. 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  127 

"  Oh  !  "  she  cried,  "  that  I  too  might  stay  with 
you !  " 

"  Why,"  said  he,  laughing  gently,  "  you  are  the 
calm  over  it  all.  And  you  will  go  back  and  wait 
till  the  waves  are  still." 

She  thought  in  silence. 

"  Yes,"  she  sighed  after  a  time,  "  I  will  go  back. 
But  it  is  with  sorrow,  and  only  because  you  wish  it. 
I  shall  not  be  happy.  And  —  I  do  not  like  it  there 
any  more,"  she  added  with  odd  simplicity.  "  And  I 
do  not  like  Pepa's  mother.  And  Pepa  —  where  is 
she?  Vicente,  I  want  to  say  something  to  you." 

"  Say  on,"  said  he. 

"  I  —  I  am  afraid  of  Pepa." 

His  face  darkened. 

"Why?  "asked  he. 

''Not  for  myself.  She  is  good  to  me  —  but  —  I 
am  afraid  of  her  for  you." 

"  She  did  a  brave  thing  to-day,"  said  he.  "  She 
rode  out  between  the  two  ranks,  straight  into  the 
enemy.  She  is  like  a  dream  in  the  night.  She  stirs 
my  heart  strangely,  yet  I  cannot  truly  know  her. 
She  rode  slowly,  daring  them.  She  made  them  halt, 
and  gave  us  every  opportunity  to  take  in  their 
number  and  more  fully  to  prepare ;  and  afterward 
she  turned  and  galloped  back  and  led  the  charge." 

His  face  grew  much  darker  as  he  spoke.  She  was 
interested  but  little. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  gloomily ;  "  yes,  that  is  like  Pepa." 

"  But  you  are  afraid  of  her?" 

She  clasped  his  arm  and  repeated  it. 

"  I  am  afraid  of  Pepa.  I  do  not  know;  there  is 
something  that  makes  me  afraid." 

"  Well,"  he  said  after  a  long  pause,  "  maybe  there 
is,  child." 


i28  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

They  spoke  yet  a  little  while  of  other  things.  The 
storm  had  broken  and  was  warring  outside.  The 
terror  of  the  battle  and  the  gloom  of  the  field  she 
had  passed  through  were  over  her,  and  she  shuddered. 

"  Early  in  the  morning,"  said  he,  "  there  departs  a 
canoa  from  here  for  Chapala.  It  is  a  boat  of  a  friend 
of  the  priest.  He  will  carry  letters  to  Chapala,  and 
you  shall  go  with  him.  You  will  be  safe  and  the 
journey  will  be  easy.  The  army  is  not  for  you." 

He  gave  her  his  bed,  which  stood  in  the  room's 
corner,  kissed  her  good-night,  and  left  her.  She  sat 
long  looking  into  the  dying  fire,  hearing  thunder  and 
rain  in  torrents  without,  and  afterward  dropped  her 
head  to  her  hands  on  her  knees  and  the  tears  ran 
down  on  the  pink  of  the  dress.  Then  she  went  to 
bed  and  slept. 

Fortino  had  returned  slowly  to  the  point  where  she 
had  found  him.  He  had  taken  no  interest  in  the 
silent  seekers  after  fugitives,  the  occasional  flashing 
of  a  torch  round  a  dark  corner  He  believed  the 
remnant  of  the  enemy  had  galloped  away  out  of  the 
tov/n ;  indeed  it  was  known  that  some  had  so  done. 

"  They  've  caught  two !  "  cried  a  friend,  running 
past  him. 

"Eh?"  said  Fortino;  "two;"  and  went  on  ill- 
humoredly.  "  And  the  rest  may  be  in  Heaven  or 
Hell.  They  are  n't  here,  oh  Saint  Gregory  !  " 

He  came  to  the  outskirts  and  thence  to  the  wall 
where  his  two  companions  were,  and  the  isolated 
camp  fire  flickered  and  smoked.  The  rain  was  com 
ing  on  with  more  violence,  and  sputtered  and  hissed 
on  the  coals.  Anastasio  was  seated  under  the  shel 
ter  of  thatched  eaves  that  hung  out  from  the  wall. 
He  had  his  sombrero  down  over  his  eyes,  his  lank- 
knees  close  to  his  face,  his  lanker  arms  wrapped 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  129 

round  them.  His  red  blanket,  for  further  protection, 
was  wound  all  about  his  body,  his  neck,  and  his  chin. 
He  was  the  picture  of  indolence.  Off  to  the  left  were 
the  other  camps,  surprised  by  the  rain,  the  fires  dying 
out,  the  men  huddled  together.  To  the  right  were 
still  the  torches  flaring  over  dead  bodies. 

Fortino,  too,  sat  down  by  the  fire  in  the  shelter  of 
the  eaves.  The  rain,  coming  from  behind  them,  left 
this  spot  comparatively  dry.  When  the  full  torrent 
broke,  Francisco  came  dashing  from  the  field  of  the 
slain,  his  blanket  fluttering  in  the  wind  and  his 
sandals  clapping  out  sharp  slaps  on  the  wet  earth. 
He  leaped  in  under  the  eaves. 

"  What,  you  old  figure-head  ! "  cried  he  in  an  im 
pertinent  bantering  to  Fortino.  "  You  who  lead  and 
fight  like  a  lame  cock  !  Oh  your  battle  !  Ha  !  ha  ! 
Ha  !  ha  !  "  and  he  slapped  his  leg  with  vigor.  "  Villain, 
you  were  chaff  in  the  wind.  The  first  big  wave  went 
right  over  your  head  as  though  your  bristles  were 
grass  on  a  sandy  marsh.  Take  a  lesso-n  from  me.  I 
would  inspire  a  rock  with  recklessness,  I  would. 
Men,  did  you  see  me?  I  was  the  stiffest  feather  in 
your  right  wing,  was  I !  " 

"  And  you  beat  more  air  than  all  the  rest  of  them," 
observed  Anastasio,  slowly  crossing  his  legs  another 
way,  "  I  '11  wager  you  that,  and  were  easily  first  when 
the  wing  flew." 

u  Let  remorse  have  its  own  way  in  me,  fellow,"  put 
in  Fortino  gloomily.  "  I  am  no  soldier,  eh?  Nor 
a  bellows  either." 

Anastasio  cast  a  pensive  eye  out  into  the  rain  and 
the  night,  toward  the  field  of  the  slain. 

"Where  are  they,  Francisco?"  said  he.  "Where 
are  the  spoils?  " 

"  They  are  out  there,"  replied  the  other,  shaking 
9 


i3o  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

his  head  and  staring,  too,  into  the  rain.  "  St.  Fran 
cis, .it  is  creepy,  this  spoils.  Now  if  it  were  day  — 
Friends,  there  is  a  bad  atmosphere  hangs  over  the 
spoils.  I  moved  a  little  in  that  direction.  Amigos 
mios,  it  seems  to  me  doubtful  that  spoils  are  made 
for  the  night.  Spoils  are  a  creature  of  the  day-time. 
Now  I  tell  you  I  would  do  it —  I  came  near  doing  it 
- 1  could  bring  myself  round  to  it,  if —  Fellows,  I 
am  a  man  of  deep  sympathies  and  stirrings  of  the 
bosom." 

"  You  would  rather  take  your  spoils  from  a  live 
man,"  suggested  Anastasio.  "  Yet  if  I  did  not  know 
the  stirrings  of  your  bosom  made  it  flabby  in  the 
matter  of  courage,  I  should  say  you  had  some  dead 
fellow's  coins  under  your  blanket." 

"  I  am  afraid  of  nothing,"  cried  the  hot  Francisco, 
"  under  the  whole  course  of  the  sun.  Yet  even  a 
vigorous  coward  were  something  to  have  faith  in,  and 
better  than  a  cow  of  a  man  who  chews  his  cud  during 
battle.  What  did  Anastasio  do?  By  my  soul's  sal 
vation,  he  sat  the  ground  cross-legged  during  the 
fight.  When  the  enemy  was  coming  on  I  heard  a 
wheezing  sigh  some  feet  over  my  head.  I  turned 
and  it  was  this  tall  animal  commencing  to  bend  him 
self  down  and  arranging  his  legs.  He  sat  himself 
on  the  hard  ground,  he  did,  in  the  midst  of  us,  cross- 
legged.  And  he  turned  loose  his  weapon  in  that 
condition.  And  when  they  came  rushing  on  us  and 
had  us  fighting  them  like  bees  round  our  heads,  there 
was  this  long  strip  of  human  flesh,  lazy  as  a  woman, 
by  my  soul,  in  the  midst  of  them,  shooting  straight 
up." 

"  This  was  on  account  of  my  coolness,  brother," 
said  Anastasio.  "  I  was  remarkably  cool  during  the 
fight.  I  distinctly  recall  stopping  a  moment  to  put 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  131 

my  blanket  over  my  mouth  to  keep  out  the  poi 
son  of  the  coming  night  air.  For  I  sometimes  have 
a  cough.  Besides,  that  is  my  way  of  going  into 
battle.  I  go  into  it  sitting  down,  and  my  theory  of 
the  fight  is  that  the  rest  ought  to  do  likewise.  You 
call  your  line  up  in  a  long  row  and  you  make  them 
sit  down,  cross-legged  for  them  to  whom  it  is  more 
comfortable.  And  when  the  enemy  comes  charging 
on  you,  forbid  a  rise,  but  have  the  firing  done  as  they 
are.  Thus  is  there  no  danger  of  a  rout.  No  soldier, 
lest  he  disobey  orders,  can  run  away,  for  he  cannot 
run  sitting  and  to  get  up  is  to  disobey  orders,  where 
after  he  knows  he  will  be  shot.  These  are  my  the 
ories  of  a  battle." 

Anastasio's  vocabulary  was  frequently  a  matter  of 
awe  to  his  companions.  There  was  much  silence  and 
consideration  after  this  speech. 

"  No  doubt,"  said  Francisco,  venturing  a  straining 
of  his  own  vocabulary  and  speaking  weightily,  "  it  is 
a  way  to  gain  momentum." 

"  You,"  replied  Anastasio  taking  him  up,  "  you 
don't  know  what  momentum  is." 

To  which  Francisco  warmly  retorted : 

"  I  know  the  Castilian  tongue,  senor,  andite  mean 
ings.  There  are  some  who  know  nothing  but  the 
tongue.  There  are  some  who  are  all  tongue.  Mo 
mentum  is  this :  A  bull  in  a  field  is  made  mad  by  an 
agitation  of  the  blanket,  so.  He  comes  at  you,  his 
tail  whizzing  and  his  eyes  shut.  You  leap  behind 
a  very  large  rock,  thus,  the  rock  happening  to  be 
in  the  field  where  the  bull  is.  The  bull,  having  got 
force  as  he  came  on,  finds  himself  unable  to  stop  the 
movement  of  his  body  and  he  smashes  as  though  he 
were  glass,  on  the  rock,  horns  first.  Si,  senor,  and 
what  was  it  smashed  him?  "  Here  Francisco  empha- 


i32  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

sized  matters  with  a  sweep  of  his  hand.  "  It  was  the 
momentum  in  the  rock!  " 

"  It  is  a  very  hard  metal,"  said  Fortino,  who  had 
not  listened  to  much  of  the  discourse.  "  There  arc 
veins  of  it  among  the  Triquis.  The  Triquis  mine  it 
and  carry  it  to  the  west  coast,  and  it  is  shipped 
north,  where  they  tell  me  there  is  a  nation  of  mad 
men." 

"There  is  that,"  said  Francisco,  "a  nation  that 
speaks  foolishly  a  language  that  nobody  can  under 
stand.  They  are  white  and  their  country  is  as  big  as 
all  Mexico  or  bigger,  so  I  am  told.  They  have  large 
cities,  too,  of  madmen.  And  those  that  chance  to  be 
born  of  a  sane  mind  are  made  crazy  by  the  rest  be 
fore  they  come  of  a  good  age,  that  harmony  may  be 
preserved." 

"  A  good  national  policy,"  said  Fortino ;  "  a  wis 
dom  worthy  even  of  a  right-minded  people." 

They  had  sat  for  some  time  in  silence  when  Doro- 
teo  came  round  the  corner  and  entered  banteringly 
into  conversation  with  them.  Pursuing  a  course  of 
clever  flattery  which  he  knew  too  well  how  to  use, 
he  presently  drew  Fortino  aside,  and,  with  his  fingers 
on  the  giant's  arm,  whispered  to  him  of  Pepa.  She 
had  not  been  seen  since  the  fight.  Fortino  could 
furnish  no  information  of  her.  It  was  then  that 
Quiroz  unburdened  himself  to  his  big  listener.  He 
told  him  plainly  of  his  passion  for  the  girl,  his  love 
of  the  bloody  game  they  were  playing,  a  love  trebled 
by  the  stake  he  had  set  before  him  in  the  person  of 
Josefa  Aranja.  When  he  finally  left  Fortino,  not 
only  had  he  soothed  that  remorseful  man's  heart  by 
praise  of  his  fighting  —  he  had  done  another  thing. 
He  had  secured  a  promise  that,  did  it  ever  chance  in 
battle  that  Pepa  were  cut  down  and  in  danger,  For- 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  133 

tino  would  seize  the  young  tigress  by  brute  force  and 
carry  her  off  the  field  to  await  the  coming  of  Quiroz. 
This  agreed,  the  adroit  Doroteo  moved  noiselessly 
away,  Fortino  turned  to  his  companions.  They 
prepared  for  the  night. 

"  Where  is  la  capitana?  "  inquired  Francisco,  com 
pletely  burying  himself  in  his  blanket. 

"  She  is  doubtless,"  said  Anastasio  slowly,  "  in  a 
church  somewhere,  praying." 

And  he  stretched  himself  at  a  marvellous  length 
on  the  ground.  The  storm  was  only  beginning  to 
abate,  and  e*re  long  the  three  of  them  were  answering 
its  thunders  with  their  snores. 

Early  in  the  morning  the  priest  in  the  house  that 
lodged  Vicente  and  his  sister,  came  to  Clarita's  door 
and  awakened  her.  She  could  not  see  Vicente ;  he 
was  already  out  with  his  troops.  She  dressed  herself 
and  was  given  into  the  charge  of  the  man  in  whose 
canoa  she  was  to  be  a  passenger.  She  left  the  priest 
still  rubbing  his  hands  most  heartily,  and  went  away 
to  the  lake.  The  storm  had  gone  by  and  the  sun 
rose  clear ;  all  the  world  was  fresh  and  glistening  with 
the  clinging  drops  of  rain,  and  the  morning  breeze 
came  cool  out  of  the  mountains.  They  found  the 
canoa  riding  at  anchor  some  distance  out.  She  was 
lifted  to  a  sailor's  back  and  carried  through  sparkling 
water.  When  all  was  ready  a  sail  was  hoisted. 

She  stood  in  the  bow  looking  back  at  the  town. 
The  soldiers  were  far  to  her  right,  seemingly  pre 
paring  to  move.  Vicente  she  could  not  distinguish. 
A  white-clothed,  bare-legged  sailor  sat  in  the  stern 
at  the  wooden  rudder.  Another  sprawled  under  the 
boat's  thatch  on  the  floor.  Still  a  third  lay  high  up 
at  the  prow  over  the  water  and  sang  a  lazy,  melan- 


i34  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

choly  tune  to  himself,  a  song  of  the  Senora,  the 
Senorita,  the  love  that  was  not  love  but  hate,  the 
happiness  that  was  not  joy,  but  death.  Before  night 
the  mountains  back  of  Chapala  and  the  two  white 
towers  under  them  rose  high  over  the  boat's  bow. 


CHAPTER    IV 

AS  Don  Rodrigo  and  his  men  dashed  through  the 
right  wing  and  into  the  town,  a  last  shot  fol 
lowing  them  wounded  ihejefe's  horse.  Thejefe  him 
self  was  unhurt.  There  were  twelve  of  his  band  left. 
White  with  rage  he  spurred  his  animal  on  with  what 
vigor  he  could  muster.  Quiroz's  cavalry  not  having 
been,  in  the  last  of  the  fight,  very  well  consolidated, 
and  not  expecting  this  dash  for  the  town,  was  not  so 
rapid  at  following  as  it  might  otherwise  have  been. 
Smothering  his  chagrin  as  best  he  could,  though 
taking  a  fierce  delight  in  the  memory  of  that  scythe- 
like  sweep  through  opposing  ranks,  Rodrigo  hud 
dled  his  flying  band  as  close  together  as  possible, 
decided  on  a  tortuous  gallop  through  the  narrow 
streets,  an  exit  on  the  far  side  of  Ocotlan,  and  a  dash 
for  the  mountains  — thence  escape  if  not  pursued  ;  if 
pursued,  it  could  be  but  by  the  enemy's  little  cavalry, 
and  he  only  prayed  it  might  follow  him.  With  what 
keen  delight  would  he  burn  in  cutting  down  that  no 
more  than  equal  foe !  Once  away,  he  swore  he 
would  yet  raise  an  army  that  would  down  this  rebel 
lion.  The  crooked,  lane-like  quality  of  the  town's 
streets,  the  fast-coming  night  whose  shadows  were 
already  thick  between  the  rows  of  low  adobe  build 
ings,  aided  the  flight. 

This  was  all  well  enough  thus  mapped  out.  Un 
fortunately  there  was  a  bullet  in  his  horse.  They 
were  in  the  midst  of  the  town,  circling  in  deep  alleys, 


ij6  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

cutting  a  secret,  swift  path  out  of  the  coming  night, 
when  he  felt  his  beast  waver,  quiver  under  him.  He 
spurred  the  poor  animal  on,  and  it  dashed  with  the 
rest  yet  another  crooked  block.  Then  it  suddenly 
reeled  and  fell  flat,  giving  its  dexterous  rider  barely 
time  to  leap  in  safety  to  the  ground.  And  that  rider 
knew  his  enemy  was  pursuing  him,  misled  by  the 
darkness  and  unreadiness  and  by  the  irregular  lanes 
of  the  town,  but  not  distant. 

This  spot  where  his  horse  fell  was  in  a  little  side 
cut  across  half  vacant  lots,  where  thatched  huts  stood 
placed  at  random.  The  way  was  lined  with  a  long 
double  hedge  of  some  thickly  growing  tropical  plant, 
and  by  the  deep  foliage  of  rows  of  mango  trees.  The 
lane  was  a  narrow  shaft  of  dense  green.  The  wavering 
of  his  steed  had  made  him,  ere  this,  last  of  his  band. 
The  rest,  save  Bonavidas  and  two  others,  were  far 
gone  when  the  beast  came  down  and  died. 

"  Up  behind  me  !  Quick  !  Quick  !  "  cried  Bona 
vidas,  breathing  heavily  and  wheeling  his  horse  to 
Rodrigo's  side.  The  two  others,  weapons  out,  waited 
with  impatience. 

"  Go  on  —  never  mind  me  !  "  cried  thejeft.  "  That 
would  be  but  to  give  both  of  us  up.  Go  on,  I  tell 
you !  " 

"  We  won't  leave  the  captain,"  said  they  surlily. 

"Go  on,  I  tell  you  —  I  command  you!  Bonavi 
das,  the  rest  need  you  more  than  I.  In  the  name  of 
God,  fellows,  go  on  !  I  know  a  sure  refuge.  I  will 
join  you  on  the  Guadalajara  road  !  " 

Bonavidas,  being  somewhat  of  a  grim  philosopher, 
dashed  off  and  was  gone.  The  others  lingered  yet  a 
moment,  which  moment  cost  them  dearly.  They 
were  ordered,  pleaded  with  by  the/</>,  and  finally  left 
him.  They  failed  to  overtake  their  comrades.  They 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  137 

were  halted  some  distance  beyond  the  plaza,  cor 
nered  and  captured  by  Doroteo  and  some  others. 
Their  comrades  were  off,  galloping  across  fields, 
thence  into  a  rocky  road,  thence  to  safety. 

Of  the  pursuers,  the  most  ready  and  the  leader  had 
been  the  girl.  She  had  turned  her  horse  loose  after 
them,  and  he  was  the  best  animal  in  Vicente's  forces. 
She  heard  behind  her  Doroteo's  curses  and  order  of 
pursuit,  and  her  comrades  coming.  She  was  far  in 
advance  of  them,  and  wheeled  the  corner  of  adobe 
walls  into  the  first  street  but  little  behind  Rodrigo 
and  his  men.  She  leaned  far  forward,  urging  on  her 
steed.  Her  enemy  did  not  gain  ground  before  her, 
nor,  though  she  might  have  done  so,  did  she  gain  on 
him.  Those  quick  turns  and  circuits  that  the  pur 
sued  made  in  the  dusk,  she  too  made  in  following. 
Her  eyes  were  bent  always  to  the  front  that  she 
might  not  lose  him  in  the  shades.  She  lost  her  rebozo 
in  that  wild  gallop.  The  long,  soft  cloth  floated  away 
behind  her  on  a  breeze  and  fell  over  the  head  of  a 
naked  and  terrified  boy,  who,  with  other  townspeople, 
was  scampering  away  to  the  safety  of  a  hut.  That 
rebozo  hangs  to  this  day  in  a  church  at  Ocotlan,  won 
derful  prodigy  from  the  heavens,  miracle  dropped  by 
the  Holy  Virgin  into  the  streets.  It  is  framed  in  gold ; 
and  the  priest  of  the  church,  an  old  man,  is  he  who 
was  the  naked  boy,  and  on  whom  Blessed  Mary  let 
fall  this  not-to-be-mistaken  or  disregarded  summons 
out  of  the  clear  sky. 

When  the  jefe's  men  came  to  those  groves  of 
mango  trees,  and  wheeled  into  the  little  lane  whose 
shadows  were  already  night  and  whose  shaft  of  nar 
row  green,  like  a  tunnel,  was  a  shaft  of  black,  Pepa 
wheeled  after  them.  What  was  that  wavering  of 
beast  before  her?  Her  heart  bounded  and  seemed 


138  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

to  stop.  She  drew  her  own  horse  to  a  quick  halt, 
close  under  the  overhanging  arms  of  the  trees.  She 
could  barely  see  the  tottering  shadow  some  yards  to 
the  fore.  She  heard  the  thud  when  the  carcass  fell, 
and  a  quick,  smothered  exclamation  in  a  voice  she 
knew.  She  was  on  the  ground  at  once,  silent,  leading 
her  steed  with  the  caution  of  her  Indian  ancestors, 
closer,  closer.  She  kept  well  under  the  thick  foliage 
of  the  mangos.  She  could  not  have  been  seen.  A 
Few  moments  more,  and  those  before  her,  in  less  of 
the  shadow,  were  but  scarcely  distinguished  forms. 
She  stopped  twenty  yards  from  them,  heard  the  little 
colloquy,  and  perceived  that  he  was  left  there  alone. 
While  she  assimilated  all  this,  Doroteo  and  his  men 
were  passing  in  eager  haste  by  the  opening  of  the 
lane.  They  did  not  even  see  that  opening,  the  trees 
at  that  point  nearly  meeting  over  the  narrow  path 
between.  The  pursuers  had  gone  by  with  a  sweep 
of  wind  and  dust,  and  the  lane  was  left  in  the  deep, 
living  silence  of  a  summer  night. 

Rodrigo  had  crept  through  the  foliage  at  the 
path's  side,  and  lain  flat  on  the  ground ;  the  girl 
stood  motionless,  straining  every  nerve  that  she 
might  know  what  he  did.  When  silence  came  again, 
he  crept  back  slowly,  cautiously.  She  could  hear 
twigs  crackle,  and  finally,  when  he  reached  the  path 
and  stood  up,  she  could  barely  see  his  form.  He 
thought  himself  alone.  The  blood  rushed  to  her 
head.  She  found  herself  trembling  to  think  how 
easily  she  could  kill  him.  Something  savage  in  her 
leaped  up,  and  she  pictured  his  death.  But  she 
laughed  inwardly  at  herself,  and  put  the  vision 
away. 

"  Pepa,  thou  fool,"  she  said,  "  it  must  go  beyond 
this  —  to  despair,  before  thou  canst  do  that." 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  139 

She   let  him   go  on  till   he  was  yet  farther  away. 

Then  she  tied  her  horse  to  the  trees  and  went  after 
him,  as  silent  as  he.  Before  he  reached  the  end  of 
the  lane,  he  crept  through  the  foliage  again  to  the 
opposite  side.  She  was  fearful  of  losing  sight  of  him, 
and  crept  through  quickly  where  she  was.  She  found 
herself  in  one  of  those  marvellous,  yet  common  groves 
of  unnumbered  Mexican  fruits ;  where  the  deep  black 
shadow  of  the  mango  still  reared  itself;  where  the 
orange  and  the  toronja,  the  cidra,  and  the  lemon, 
hung  their  unseen  globes ;  where  the  papaya  lifted 
its  long  stem  and  its  picture-book  clusters  of  leaves 
against  the  sky ;  where  the  huele-de-noche  loaded  and 
sickened  the  air  with  that  ravishing  scent  too  sacred 
for  the  day. 

There  was  a  hut  on  the  far  side  and  a  candle  burn 
ing  in  its  doorway.  Beyond  the  hut  was  another  lane 
leading  into  a  more  prominent  street,  and  the  plaza 
was  not  far  distant.  A  certain  Mexican  boy  of  seven 
teen  years  was  considerably  astonished  before  eight 
o'clock  of  that  night,  in  this  very  grove.  He  was 
emptying  charcoal  from  a  basket  to  the  ground  at 
the  hut's  door.  He  was  wrapped  in  a  blanket  and 
wore  a  common  straw  sombrero.  He  saw  no  shad 
ows  out  under  the  trees  but  the  trees'  shadows.  But 
another  that  fell  from  no  tree  came  stealthily  up  be 
hind  him.  The  charcoal  was  falling  rattlingly,  dustily 
to  the  earth,  when  the  boy  felt  a  blow  that  seemed  to 
burst  every  blood-vessel  in  his  head,  on  the  side  of 
that  member.  After  reeling  and  half  sitting,  half  fall 
ing  down,  he  gained  his  senses.  His  blanket  and  his 
hat  were  gone. 

At  night,  and  particularly  if  there  be  dampness  or 
the  suggestions  of  rain  in  air  or  sky,  the  Mexican 
peon  covers  all  of  his  face  but  his  eyes  with  his  blanket 


1 40  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

He  wraps  the  whole  upper  half  of  him  in  that  gar 
ment,  fie  has  an  idea,  inherited  with  solemn  belief 
from  many  generations,  that  there  is  poison  in  ni^ht 
air.  He  will  sleep  by  dozens  in  one  room  piled  thick 
with  snoring  human  bodies,  with  all  doors  and  win 
dows  tightly  shut  to  keep  out  the  foul  poison  of  a 
pure  night  breeze,  nowhere  purer  and  sweeter  than 
on  the  Mexican  tableland,  and  breathe  as  he  sleeps 
the  nauseous  exhalations  of  his  slumbering  family 
and  their  cousins  and  their  mistresses  and  friends. 
And  he  will  arise  refreshed,  let  the  heavy  chemicals 
of  his  night's  lodgings  like  a  fog  of  disease  out  into 
a  clear  morning,  and  congratulate  himself  on  his  san 
itary  circumspection.  This  night  was  cooled  by  a 
damp  breeze  from  the  lake.  Lightning  and  thunder 
bespoke  coming  rain.  Hence  when  the  scurrying, 
frightened,  questioning  inhabitants  of  the  surrendered 
town  of  Ocotlan  beheld  a  man  wrapped  to  his  eyes  in 
a  blanket  and  shaded  to  his  nose  with  a  straw  som 
brero,  walking  with  calm,  majestic  tread  through  the 
street's  shadows  as  any  Mexican  walks,  they  recog 
nized  only  the  customary  precautions  of  their  race. 
A  girl  some  distance  behind  him  attracted  more  at 
tention  ;  and  some  even  knew  who  she  was. 

That  walk  was  short.  Two  blocks  from  the  plaza 
was  the  house  of  \hz  prcsidcutc, —  he  who  had  sur 
rendered  the  town  much  against  his  will.  He  was 
not  unknown  to  Don  Rodrigo.  The  house  was  sub 
sequently  torn  down.  There  is  a  meson  standing 
there  now.  It  was  built  round  the  usual  inner  court, 
but  had  a  long,  narrow  strip  of  garden,  with  fruit 
trees,  extending  from  this  court  through  the  block 
to  a  rear  street.  This  garden  was  lined  along  both 
sides  with  stalls  for  horses. 

The  muffled  man   came  to  the  rear  street  and  the 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  141 

entrance  of  the  garden.  He  was  cautious  again,  but 
this  street  was  very  shadowed.  At  a  corner  some 
distance  away  an  oil  lamp  hung  from  the  middle  of  a 
wire  stretched  from  one  side  of  the  thoroughfare  to 
the  other,  which  lamp  gave  a  little  light.  The  man 
wheeled  suddenly  through  a  wooden  door  that  gave 
passage  to  the  inner  side  of  a  wall  which  closed  this 
end  of  the  president's  garden.  He  had  been  within 
four  seconds  when  the  girl  slid  through  after  him, 
scarcely  seeming  to  open  the  door  at  all.  She  found 
a  way  of  barring  it  after  her.  As  she  entered,  there 
was  a  hubbub  of  voices  in  another  street,  coming 
toward  the  lamp,  and  the  resinous  torches  of  a  hurry 
ing  party  of  armed  seekers  flared  round  the  corner. 
She  heard  them  come  nearer,  and  stood  holding  her 
breath.  They  were  her  friends,  her  adorers.  She 
crouched  down  and  hid,  and  they  passed  on,  bent 
on  some  other  destination. 

She  arose,  and  went  on  up  the  narrow  garden  and 
knelt  again  and  crawled.  She  was  among  cabbages 
and  chayotes.  She  crept  closer,  closer  between  the 
lines  of  stables,  and  came  to  another  high  wooden 
door  which,  through  another  adobe  wall,  led  into  the 
patio  of  the  president's  house.  She  had  seen  it 
open  (letting  through  a  faint  light  and  a  glimpse  of 
trees,  wide  verandas,  and  a  room  door)  and  close 
again  as  Rodrigo  passed  stealthily  on.  She  came  to 
it,  but  did  not  dare  to  enter.  She  lay  down  with  her 
eye  at  a  crack  of  some  breadth  that  was  beneath  the 
door. 

Rodrigo,  still  swathed,  crossed  under  trees,  and  by 
a  tinkling  fountain  in  the  patio,  and  entered  under 
the  low,  tiled  roof  of  a  broad  corrector,  brick  floored. 
To  his  right  and  behind  were  a  kitchen,  cooks  mov 
ing  about  over  charcoal  fires,  and  a  mozo  cleaning 


i4-'  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

pots.     Before  him  was  a  half-opened    door    leading 
into  a  room  where  a  light  burned. 

He  knocked,  and  the  presidente  came  to  the  door. 
The  presidente  was  a  fat,  bustling,  nervous  little  man. 
He  was  sore  perplexed  and  exasperated.  He  peered 
up  at  Rodrigo,  and  Rodrigo  removed  the  blanket  and 
the  hat  and  smiled  a  curious  smile  on  the  presidente, 
whereat  the  latter  started  back  with  an  exclamation. 

"  What !  "  cried  he,  with  many  colors  and  suffo 
cated.  "  You  !  You  !  Oh,  Dios  !  My  Lady  of  the 
Remedies!  Come  in!  Nay,  nay  —  stay  out  —  go 
away  !  Hide  yourself  here.  I  will  hide  you  !  I  will 
not  hide  you  !  Madness  !  Enriqueta  !  My  wife  ! 
My  wife !  " 

Enriqueta,  with  a  candle  and  a  low  dress  that 
showed  an  ample  neck,  came  running  out.  She  was 
quizzical,  critical. 

"  Who  is  it  ?     Who  is  this  man  ?  "  gasped  Enriqueta. 

"  Your  husband  knows  me,"  said  Rodrigo,  little 
able  to  brook  this  delay  in  the  hiding,  but  amused  in 
spite  of  it,  "  and  that  I  need  protection.  God  grant 
I  be  worthy  of  it.  My  friend  "  —  and  he  turned  in  a 
most  confiding  way  to  the  prisiitt  ntc  —  "a  few  hours 
of  concealment,  a  horse  in  the  early  dawn — ah — 
I  see  your  heart  warms  to  it.  Heaven  be  thanked,  I 
have  fallen  among  friends ! 

With  incoherency,  dashing  sentences,  shattered  ex 
clamations,  the  presidente ',  stepping  about  all  the  time 
as  though  every  spot  on  the  floor  burnt  his  feet,  ex 
plained  to  his  wife. 

"  Sir,"  said  she,  with  infinite  and  severe,  though 
agitated  propriety,  "  this  house  has  daughters,  inno 
cent  young  things,  brought  up  in  the  customs  of 
Spain.  You  cannot  be  in  the  company  of  my  daugh 
ters.  Oh,  Jose",  my  husband  !  What  will  we  do  with 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  143 

our  girls?  They  are  kept  most  carefully  from  men. 
Oh,  skies  of  the  morning !  A  man  in  the  same 
house  !  Help  me,  oh,  my  faith  !  in  this  matter.  Sir, 
this  has  never  happened  before.  In  this  land  men 
see  not  young  ladies  in  their  own  house.  Never  has 
a  male  youth  so  much  as  passed  the  door.  And  I 
will  declare,  sir,  that  only  one  of  my  daughters  has 
so  much  as  a  novio,  and  him  she  has  had  but  three 
weeks,  —  and  whether  he  means  it  or  not  the  Lord 
knows,  though  he  has  honored  my  daughter  by 
standing  every  night  of  the  three  weeks  under  her 
balcony ;  and  I  have  seen  him  sigh  in  a  way  that  an 
old  lady  like  me  cannot  misinterpret.  But  it  shall 
be  months  before  we  let  him  in,  and  then  only  when 
he  has  given  us  every  assurance  of  honorable  in 
tentions,  and  it  shall  be  in  the  presence  of  her 
mother.  I  am  sure  I  do  not  know  what  I  shall  do. 
Oh,  my  girls  !  Oh,  my  guarded  offspring ;  guarded 
like  jewels !  My  husband,  I  cannot  solve  this  unless 
you  put  him  in  Juan,  the  mozo's  room,  yonder  by 
the  garden  door.  And,  Jose  !  Jose  !  have  a  care  for 
the  ancient  Castilian  sanctity, — and  you  can  lock 
him  in ! " 

"  We  can  lock  in  the  sanctity,  Enriqueta,  better. 
Let  it  be  the  sanctity  that  is  locked  in !  " 

Enriqueta  gave  a  slight  shriek  as  the  two  crossed 
the  patio  in  stealthy  haste,  and  dived  in  to  guard  her 
brood.  One  of  the  latter  was  peering  out  of  the  door, 
and  was  speedily  bustled  away. 

"  Look  not  on  him !  "  cried  she.  "  In  the  very 
house  !  Oh  a  most  beautiful  young  man  —  a  most 
handsome  one  !  Cobita,  my  love,  come  away  !  I  am 
all  trembling.  There  will  something  come  of  this  !  " 

The  rain  was  beginning  to  drop  in  a  desultory  way 
when  Don  Rodrigo  entered  his  room.  Outside  the 


r-,4  A    DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

garden  gate  still  lay  the  girl.  She  watched  through  the 
crack  till  some  minutes  after  there  was  anything  to 
see.  The  nervous  presidente  had  returned  to  the  front 
part  of  his  house  and  shut  himself  and  his  family 
in.  She  arose  then,  and,  assuring  herself  that  there 
was  no  lock  on  this  door,  only  a  wooden  bar  with  its 
peg  running  through  to  the  side  toward  the  garden, 
she  went  back  among  the  vegetables  to  the  street. 
This  street  door  had  a  lock  with  a  monstrous  iron 
key  sticking  in  it.  She  stole  the  key.  She  went, 
then,  out  of  the  garden  and  retraced  her  course  to 
the  lane  of  mangos.  She  secured  her  horse  and  led 
him  to  a  meson.  She  next  proceeded  to  a  store  and 
bought  a  rcbozo.  It  was  a  half-hour  later,  and  in  a 
rain  now  somewhat  disagreeable,  that,  having  skil 
fully  avoided  the  eyes  of  the  townspeople,  she 
returned  to  the  garden.  The  thunder  was  hammer 
ing  viciously  at  the  night.  A  little  while  more,  she 
knew,  and  torrents  would  be  upon  her.  She  put 
damp  fingers  on  the  garden  door  and  pushed  it.  It 
was  not  fastened. 

The  terrified  presidente  was  too  careful  of  his  own 
safety  to  do  else  than  remain  in  the  house.  He 
would  fasten  nothing.  If  it  became  proved  that  the 
refugee  was  there,  why,  it  would  be  plain  the  presi 
dente  had  done  nothing  to  hide  him  —  the  jefe  had 
slipped  in  unawares  to  the  presidente.  The  presidente 
had  not  so  much  as  taken  the  care  to  lock  the  door. 
Hence,  innocent  would  the  presidente  be.  "  Further 
more,  Enriqueta,  my  love,"  had  the  fearful  soul 
explained,  snugly  enough  tucked  in  bed  as  he  was, 
"  let  the  way  of  escape  be  open ;  Mary  be  with  me 
and  rid  me  of  this  burden,  the  sooner  the  better. 
Lock  him  in  these  my  grounds?"  The  virtuous 
Enriqueta  had  suggested  some  such  thing,  with  the 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  145 

seeming  desire  of  keeping  this  jeopardizer  of  the 
safety  of  her  daughters  in  more  unquestionable 
security.  "  No,  Enriqueta;  give  him  every  opportu 
nity  to  take  his  compromising  presence  away  at  any 
moment.  He  knows  where  my  horses  are,  in  the 
stalls  by  the  cabbages.  If  he  steals  one  and  runs 
away  (and  so,  Enriqueta,  I  have  explained  to  him), 
it  is  no  business  or  fault  of  mine ;  it  is  an  unfortunate 
theft,  God  help  us !  " 

The  good  official  had  retired  immediately  after  the 
harrowing  event  of  the  fugitive's  arrival.  He  had 
completely  undressed  and  been  wrapped  with  care 
in  blankets.  It  was  part  of  the  worthy  man's  plot 
to  be  snoring  with  innocent  violence  whatever  else 
happened  in  the  rear  of  his  premises. 

Pepa,  perceiving  there  was  no  one  else  in  the 
street,  entered  the  door,  closed  and  locked  it  after 
her,  and  put  the  key  under  her  rebozo.  It  was  quite 
dark  here  save  for  the  occasional  lightning.  She 
crept  again  among  the  stalls  to  \he  patio  door.  She 
listened  at  the  stables  and  heard  the  munching  of 
horses  in  the  dark.  At  the  patio  door  she  lay  down 
again  and  peered  under.  She  was  somewhat  sur 
prised  at  what  she  saw.  The.  patio  was  dark,  as  was  all 
of  the  house  but  the  kitchen.  Out  of  a  door  of  that 
last  apartment  she  perceived  \h.e  president^ s  virtuous 
wife  stealthily  creeping  with  a  candle  in  her  hand. 
The  servants  seemed  to  have  departed.  Dona 
Enriqueta's  face,  full  of  a  terrified,  secret  eagerness, 
was  lit  white  by  the  light ;  her  ample  and  bare  neck 
exposed  itself  to  the  wanton  air  of  night ;  her  dress 
skirt,  having  been  removed,  left  her  underskirt  (of  a 
very  startling  stripe  it  was)  free  to  display  fat  ankles 
not  stockinged.  In  the  lady's  other  hand  she  carried 
a  covered  dish. 

10 


146  A    DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

This  apparition  cautiously  crossed  the  court.  It 
stopped  in  the  middle  of  it  as  though  hearing  a  noise. 
It  went  on  more  cautiously.  The  good  seiiora  was 
like  a  thief  in  her  own  house.  The  door  of  the  moztfs 
room,  whereto  the  fugitive  had  been  led,  was  on  the 
patio  s  opposite  side  under  the  wide  low  roof  of  the 
corrcdor,  and  not  far  from  the  spot  where  lay  Pepa, 
haughtily  amused,  ill  sheltered  from  the  rain,  look 
ing  through  the  crack.  The  apparition  came  in 
under  the  corrector  s  roof,  tiptoe.  The  lady  arrived, 
scared  and  trembling,  with  her  face  drawn  into  an 
expression  of  guilty  trepidation,  at  the  door  of  Don 
Rodrigo's  room.  She  kneeled  down,  whereupon  the 
lack  of  stockings  became  to  Pepa  the  most  evident 
testimony  of  her  presence,  and  she  placed  the  dish 
on  the  floor  by  the  door;  whereon,  the  dish  rattling 
a  trifle,  she  became  much  agitated  and  knocked  with 
no  composure. 

"  Who 's  there !  "  said  a  voice  within,  a  voice 
disguised. 

"  I,  senor,  I !  "  faltered  she.  "  Here  is  food  ;  and 
oh !  for  God's  sake  tell  not  my  husband,  nor  come 
near  my  daughters  !  " 

At  this  she  was  up,  candle  in  hand,  dashing  in  a 
panic  along  the  corredor  to  the  door  that  led  to  her 
lord  and  master,  and  her  white  ankles  twinkled 
plumply  away.  That  door  was  closed  and  the  open 
court  with  its  tinkling  fountain  and  the  wide  tiled 
corredorcs  were  deserted.  At  that  moment  there 
was  a  burst  of  thunder  and  the  torrent,  long  prom 
ised,  came  tumbling  down.  The  girl  arose  and 
wrapped  herself  more  closely  in  the  rcboso . 

"  Well,"  said  she,  "  I  do  not  have  to  stand  this." 

So  she  slipped  into  the  patio  and  under  the  shelter 
of  the  tiled  roof  by  Rodrigo's  door.  She  had  just 


A   DREAM    OF  A    THRONE  147 

arrived  when  he  slowly  opened  it,  and,  not  seeing 
her,  took  up  the  dish  in  silence. 

"  Buenas  noches ! "  said  she,  appearing  suddenly 
before  him  with  the  bright  smile  of  a  pleasant  call. 
"I  shall  come  in  if  you  please  !  " 

His  muscles  from  his  head  to  his  feet  stiffened,  and 
he  all  but  dropped  the  dish.  He  stood  speechless 
for  a  moment,  then  he  knew  he  must  face  it  out.  So 
he  put  back  a  wave  of  brown  hair  off  his  forehead 
and  smiled  in  mock  cordiality. 

"  No  one  more  welcome,"  said  he. 

They  went  in  and  he  shut  the  door. 

"  Is  there  a  lock  to  it?  "  said  she,  carelessly,  turn 
ing  about  and  looking  with  polite  interest  at  the  iron 
fasteners. 

"  Ah,  no,"  he  replied,  himself  looking  all  over  the 
door.  "It  seems  I  am  not  —  not  rude  enough  to 
have  a  lock.  Sit  down.  My  house,  as  the  saying  is, 
is  your  house." 

There  was  only  one  chair  in  the  room,  and  nothing 
else  but  a  piece  of  matting  on  which  the  mozo  had 
been  accustomed  to  sleep,  and  a  candle  on  the  brick 
floor.  Rodrigo  set  the  dish  on  the  floor  likewise, 
bowed  her  to  the  chair,  and  she  sat  down  in  great 
comfort.  Then  she  took  out  the  big  key  to  the 
garden  gate  and  played  with  it  on  her  lap.  They 
looked  at  each  other  for  fully  a  minute  in  silence, 
he  standing.  He  believed  he  knew  something  of  the 
possibilities  of  this  girl's  nature.  She  was  with  his 
enemy;  she  had  fought  against  him  to  kill  him. 
She  had  discovered  his  hiding-place ;  she  had  a  key. 
He  did  not  know  that  key,  but  she  played  with  it  in 
such  an  insinuating  way  that  he  guessed  at  once 
what  it  was.  The  situation  for  him  was  sufficiently 
tragic.  But  he  expressed  no  such  knowledge  in  his 


i43  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

face,  waiting  for  her  to  say  something;  and  there 
she  sat,  looking  up  at  him  with  a  most  meaning 
composure.  She  suddenly  laughed  at  him  a  little 
girlish  laugh. 

11  The  senorita  sees  fit  to  be  amused,"  said  he, 
leaning  against  the  wall. 

"  It  was  great  sport,"  said  she.  "  Oh,  I  love  to 
fight!  " 

"  You  did  well,"  said  he. 

"  And  you,"  she  replied  with  politeness. 

There  was  a  pause. 

"Your  charge  into  Fortino's  ranks,"  she  continued, 
"  I  liked  that  very  much." 

"  And  I  too,"  was  his  reply,  a  little  coldly.  Such 
conversation  annoyed  and  angered  him.  His  spirit 
was  too  sincere  to  carry  this  on  very  long,  and  his 
nerves  were  strained  to  a  great  tension.  Who  else 
knew  his  whereabouts?  How  soon  might  this  beau 
tiful  devil  take  it  into  her  head  to  call. her  soldiers? 
—  after  which,  prisons  or  death. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  I,  too,  was  pleased  with  all 
that." 

How  bitterly  it  rankled  in  his  free  heart  he  did  not 
say;  nor  his  grief  over  every  one  of  his  comrades 
that  fell. 

11  If  I  had  thought  of  it  at  all,"  she  replied,  "  I 
should  certainly  have  expected  to  be  shot."  She 
considered  this  some  time.  "  The  fire  was  so  fierce 
and  I  in  the  front  of  it.  It  is,  after  all,  strange  that 
I  came  out  unhurt." 

"  That  is  simple  enough,"  said  he. 

She  turned  quickly  and  looked  at  him. 

"So?"  said  she,  and  kicked  out  her  little  foot. 
Her  face  was  fascinating. 

"  Simple    enough,"    he    repeated,    looking   at    the 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  149 

candle-light  that  was  growing  dimmer  for  want  of 
attention. 

"  How  is  that?     How  is  it  so  simple?  "  asked  she. 

"  Because  I  ordered,"  he  replied,  and  paused, 
stooped  down,  and  snuffed  the  candle  with  his  bare 
fingers,  which  were  burnt  painfully  by  the  operation. 
"I  ordered,"  continued  he  in  that  position,  "  that 
they  should  not  shoot  at  you." 

Her  face  lost  its  calmness  and  its  roguishness  and 
much  of  its  color.  She  stared  at  him  long,  her  eyes 
unfathomable.  She  arose  suddenly  with  much 
hauteur.  There  was  no  doubt  of  the  sincerity  of 
what  she  now  uttered. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  that  is  it.  I  am  a  girl  —  I  am  a 
weak  woman.  Call  me,  then,  a  lunatic,  and  have  it 
done ;  for  to  be  wild  and  foolish  as  I  am,  and  yet 
weak,  that  is  to  be  mad.  If  I  am  to  prove  only  that 
I  can  do  nothing  —  Don  Rodrigo,  I  prefer  to  have 
your  cursed  bullets  in  me." 

The  emotion  that  was  rarely,  rarely  absent  from 
this  girl,  was  beating  up  higher  and  plain. 

"  It  was  not  because  I  underestimate  your  daring 
or  your  purposes,  or  fail  to  value  the  nature  that 
makes  you  the  unusual  woman  that  you  are,"  said 
he,  "  that  I  gave  the  order.  It  was  —  well,  let  me 
say,  for  old  times." 

"And  this  reward,"  she  said,  bitterly,  "  only  wounds 
me.  I  have  amused  you,  is  it  so,  in  certain  days 
gone  by?  A  girl  comes  into  battle  and  you  chance 
to  recall  the  fact.  You  will  be  affable.  There  is 
nothing  in  it  but  that.  You  come  from  another 
nation,  a  superior  nation,  a  nation,  no  doubt,  whose 
soul  is  as  white  as  the  faces  of  its  people,  a  nation 
cold,  steely.  And  I  am  weak,  out  of  a  passionate 
nation,  one  that,  having  seen  fire,  must  leap  in. 


1 5o  A    DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

And  me  and  mine  you  hate.  It  is  nothing  that  we 
can  follow  one  thought  into  the  grave,  one  purpose 
into  the  mouth  of  hell.  This  to  the  nation  that 
coldly  moves  to  material  ends  is  nothing.  I  would 
have  given  you  a  thousand  times  greater  thanks, 
had  you  told  your  men  to  tear  me,  me  first,  to  the 
earth  and  let  every  horse  crush  me  as  he  passed." 

"  And  this,  to  you,"  he  said,  "  would  have  been 
the  highest  way  to  answer  you  when  you  asked  me 
what  I  had  for  you?  This  would  have  been  no 
answer.  Do  you  think  I  do  not  know  that  you  play 
with  fire  as  a  child  with  sand  —  are  capable  of  any 
deed  that  your  body  is  strong  enough  to  carry  out? 
You  come  to  me  here  to-night  and  prove  it,  which 
proof  I  do  not  like.  Are  war  and  death  and  this 
infernal  torture  of  my  defeat  only  things  to  be 
chatted  about  as  people  chat  while  the  band  plays 
in  the  plaza — that  you  come  and  talk  it  over  as 
though  it  had  been  a  bull-fight  or  a  game  of  ball 
wherein  we  had  chanced  to  be  antagonists?" 

"And  this  is  the  way  you  take  it?"  said  she, 
standing  looking  at  him  fairly.  "  I  am  cold  and 
heartless ;  I  can  speak  of  battles  like  bull-fights. 
My  blood  never  leaps — my  heart  never  burns  or 
aches  —  I  cannot  understand  the  meaning  of  death. 
No;  I  am  come  of  a  savage  ancestry  that  slew 
human  sacrifices  to  stone  gods.  And  even  now, 
doubtless,  to  you  the  wildcat  is  degrading  herself. 
She  is  piqued,  she  pleads  for  old  days;  she  would 
call  up  promises.  I  am  not  such,"  she  said  sadly. 
"  Promise  there  is  none.  You  never  said,  I  love  you 
—  neither  did  I.  I  have  hated  you  oftener.  I  have 
come  merely  to  see,  to  have  it  burnt  into  me,  how 
you  look  on  me  —  because  I  am  capricious,  not  to 
be  trusted,  liking  to  do  odd  things  and  have  power, 


A   DREAM   OF  A    THRONE  151 

liking  to  look  here  on  the  key  that  locks  the  garden- 
gate  and  to  remember  that  the  adobe  wall  is  fifteen 
feet  in  height." 

"  And  you  lose  sight  of  the  most  prominent  fact, 
that  you  are  in  the  ranks  of  my  enemies.  An  hour 
hence,  when  you  are  tired  of  playing  with  me  or 
when  I  have  unwittingly  piqued  you  some  other  way, 
you  may  give  me  over  to  those  who  seek  me." 

"  Unless  you  kill  me  first,"  said  she.  "  No  other 
knows  of  your  presence  here.  If  they  come  and 
break  down  the  door,  it  is  of  their  own  finding." 

"  If  they  came,"  was  his  response,  "  I  wonder  how 
you  would  fight." 

"  I  wonder  also,"  said  she  simply.  "  I  have 
brought  no  weapon." 

He  began  to  understand  her  mood. 

"  Half  wild  you  are,"  he  said.  "  I  shall  not  dis 
grace  you  by  calling  you  anything  else.  Feel  myself 
and  my  civilization  above  you  ?  Heaven  forbid !  I 
accuse  you  of  pleading  nothing,  of  calling  up  no 
promises  nor  caring  to.  I  know  you  are  as  unfettered 
as  though  there  were  no  body  encasing  your  impetuous 
soul." 

"  And  for  being  here,"  she  asked,  her  face  burning, 
and  her  hand  on  his  arm,  "  I  am  a  traitor,  is  it  not 
so?" 

He  said  nothing  for  a  moment,  a  moment  in  which, 
not  knowing  it,  he  held  her  soul,  as  it  were,  in  his 
hand. 

"  You  are  not  a  traitor,"  he  said  slowly.  "You 
are  a  free  spirit." 

He  had  no  more  than  said  it  when  he  blamed  him 
self  for  the  words.  Many  a  time,  months,  years  after 
that  night,  the  blame  returned,  and  remorse  lived 
with  him.  It  would  not  be  possible  to  say  with  com- 


1 52  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

plete  fulness  just  why  he  answered  her  thus.  It  was 
not  haste;  he  had  time  to  think.  Doubtless  it  was 
the  desperation  of  his  circumstances.  That  he  was 
hiding  within  a  few  hundred  yards  of  many  enemies ; 
that  they  were  searching  for  him  to  kill  him ;  that 
she  was,  or  had  been,  one  of  them,  and  could  give 
him  over  to  his  fate  at  any  moment ;  these  were  not 
the  half  of  the  thoughts  that  flashed  over  him.  The 
rest  were :  Kings  shall  not,  cannot  succeed  in 
America.  This  was  a  ground  principle  of  his  most 
sacred  belief.  Fate  had  cast  him  to  crush  this 
dreamer  who  would  be  king.  The  part  might  seem 
small  enough  in  a  nation's  history  —  but  it  might,  too, 
be  infinitely  great.  Seldom  had  a  revolution  a  better 
set  of  circumstances.  The  situation  seemed  to  him 
almost  desperate.  In  all  this,  what  was  the  duty  of 
him,  the  leader  of  the  opposition  and  a  republican  to 
the  core  of  his  being?  Let  no  hasty  judgment  con 
demn  him  if  he  decided  that  any  sacrifice  should  be 
made.  So  he  told  her  that  she  was  no  traitor,  and 
called  her  a  free  spirit.  And  considering  her  nature, 
her  ancestry,  the  philosophy  that  civilization  advances 
and  that  barbarism  cannot  know  —  who  can  say  he 
lied  ?  She  was  at  least  true  to  her  poor,  torn  heart. 
The  die  once  cast  with  him,  he  must  play  the  game 
out. 

"  I  have  believed  in  you,"  he  said,  "  as  I  have  be 
lieved  in  few  women.  I  am  sorry  you  are  my  enemy. 
With  an  ally  such  as  you  anything  might  be  possible." 

"  Anything,"  said  she,  with  a  pathos  as  natural  as 
was  the  beating  of  her  heart,  "  but  a  return  to  the  old 
days.  That  is  not  possible." 

He  stood  taller  and  looked  at  her.  There  had 
been,  there  may  now  have  been,  deep  emotion  in  him 
raised  by  this  girl.  He  had  been  fascinated,  moved 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  153 

to  his  heart's  bottom,  wrapped  in  her  life  as  a  lake  is 
wrapped  in  the  light  of  the  summer  sun.  The 
passion  had  been  sudden,  hot.  He  had  held  it  with 
a  grip  of  iron,  but  it  had  showed  itself.  He  had  felt 
it  unreal,  not  lasting.  Even  in  the  height  of  it  he 
had  doubted  her.  In  the  strain  of  his  situation  and 
its  desperation,  looking  at  her  now  when  she  said 
that,  the  old  fire  came  somehow  into  his  face.  He 
was  handsome  then  and  every  feature  was  lit  with  the 
fire.  He  made  no  reply  in  words ;  he  only  (con 
sciously  or  unconsciously,  let  a  higher  truth  be  his 
judge)  let  his  eyes  speak  —  and  she  was  broken. 

She  stepped  to  him  quickly,  the  blood  leaping  to 
her  face,  took  his  hand  with  a  sudden  convulsive  sob, 
and  cried : 

"  Trust  me  —  trust  me  when  the  time  comes  !  " 
She  was  immediately  pale  to  her  very  lips,  turned 
and  ran  out,  and  was  gone;  out  of  the  patio  door  — 
on  through  the  black  garden  —  on  to  the  dim  lit 
street  —  away — away.  When  she  turned,  the  mean 
ing  of  her  words  came  on  him,  and  the  remorse. 
What  had  his  face  encouraged  her  to  do?  What 
great  sin  was  he,  in  that  one  silent  moment,  guilty 
of  ?  He  ran  after  her.  He  called  her  name.  He 
must  reach  her.  He  must  call  her  back.  He  must 
tell  her  it  cannot,  shall  not  be,  that  if  he  cannot  win 
it  alone  without  this  sin  from  her,  then  let  him  rather 
die,  there,  now,  with  defeat  branded  on  him.  Pepa ! 
Pepa  !  Perhaps  she  heard  him  and  feared  to  lose  that 
silent  promise.  She  was  gone  in  the  garden's  black 
ness.  He  went  stumbling  on  after  her,  seeing  nothing. 
The  rain  was  beating  down  in  torrents  and  the  thun 
ders  were  rolling  their  battles  of  the  sky.  He  came 
toward  the  street  door  and  a  flash  of  lightning  lit  all 
the  rain-drenched  walls  and  stables  and  the  dripping 


154  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

plants  at  his  feet.  It  showed  him,  too,  the  door  in 
the  high  adobe  wall  closed  after  her.  He  ran  and 
opened  it  and  the  street  was  empty.  He  turned  back, 
in  the  blackness  of  the  drenched  night.  And  at  some 
time  before  midnight,  aided  by  the  storm  and  by  the 
fact  that  Vicente's  little  force  was  too  small  and  unor 
ganized  effectually  to  guard  every  avenue  of  the  town, 
he  made  his  escape  on  the  presidentes  horse,  gallop 
ing  through  mud  and  water,  wet  to  the  skin,  away  to 
the  mountains  and  the  stony  Guadalajara  road,  his 
steed  struggling  and  slipping,  his  blood  burning  hot. 
Thus  on  this  night  did  Pepa  Aranja  fall,  and  did 
Don  Rodrigo  commit  a  sin. 


CHAPTER  V 

WHEN  the  first  glimpse  of  dawn  came  in  the 
east,  the  wet  soldiers  were  up  and  drying. 
A  light  breeze  blew  from  the  rising  sun,  the  lake 
glistened  and  danced,  and  there  were  naked  backs 
and  naked  legs,  white  clothing  spread  in  the  sun  to 
dry,  laughter  and  song.  There  was  cooking,  too, 
by  men  and  women;  and,  before  seven  o'clock, 
there  was  an  hilarious  feast.  Death  lost  its  terrors. 
Shadows  went  away  with  the  night.  Fighting  was 
the  sport  of  men,  the  red  blood  of  existence.  And 
with  victory  and  a  crushed  antagonist  behind,  hope 
and  little  resistance  before,  high  was  the  spirit  of 
the  army. 

Of  the  eight  hundred  of  the  fight,  more  than  seven 
hundred  were  ready  for  the  march.  To  these,  dur 
ing  the  night,  had  come  recruits.  The  first  victory 
inspired  many  in  the  town  with  the  desire  to  be 
part  of  the  next.  The  news  spread  to  the  surround 
ing  country,  and  at  daybreak  came  still  others  — 
sowers,  charcoal  burners,  ox-cart  drivers,  fishers  — • 
all  dissatisfied  with  a  plodding,  barren  existence, 
ready  for  a  change  and  the  wine  of  excitement.  At 
breakfast  there  were  more  than  eight  hundred.  The 
new  recruits  were  given  largely  to  Fortino,  whose 
ranks  had  suffered  most  heavily.  When  Doroteo 
brought  him  Vicente's  order  to  that  effect  the  great 
burly  fisherman  was  much  moved. 


156  A   DREAM  OF  A    TJIKONE 

"  I  swear  I  am  not  worth  it,"  growled  he.  "  I  am 
more  fit  to  carry  the  corn." 

"I  take  it,"  said  Anastasio,  "that  you  will  carry 
enough  as  it  is.  I  have  sat  here  dazed  at  the 
amount  of  it,  my  appetite  gone  like  a  shirt  in  a 
high  wind.  If  I  can  figure,  you  have  stowed  inside 
of  your  carrion  corn  to  the  amount  of  three  almudas. " 

"Sixty  cents  worth!"  cried  Francisco,  putting 
his  naked  legs  into  white  trousers  not  absolutely 
dry.  "Nigh  five  reales  has  this  traitor  eaten  up  in 
pure  silver  and  in  the  days  of  famine ! " 

Fortino  replied  nothing.  Still  depressed,  still 
honestly  self-accusing,  he  turned  blackly  to  his 
horse. 

A  vital  change  in  the  condition  of  the  troops  was 
being  effected  as  rapidly  as  energy  and  money  could 
accomplish  it.  All  those  who  joined  were  urged  to 
come  mounted  if  horses  could  possibly  be  obtained. 
Runners  were  that  morning  sent  out  in  the  direction 
the  army  was  to  take  to  call  the  people  to  arms, 
and,  above  all  else,  to  secure  horses.  Some  good 
animals  were  obtained  in  Ocotlan,  two  of  which 
were  turned  over  to  Francisco  and  Anastasio.  The 
cavalry  numbered  fifty-three  when  the  army  left 
that  place. 

Before  the  start  Vicente  rode  among  the  men, 
crying  out  words  of  encouragement  and  greeting. 
They  were  beginning  to  feel  that  respect  and  sym 
pathy  which  victory  and  a  silent  mien  will  many  a 
time  inspire  in  an  army  for  its  leader  —  which  con 
tinued  success  deepens  into  love.  They  cheered 
him,  standing  up  and  waving  sombreros.  He  took 
off  his  own  to  them  and  rode  on.  Then,  riding 
slowly  out  of  the  town,  her  steed  seemingly  proud 
of  its  burden,  her  red  dress  dry  again,  and  her  beauty 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  157 

fresh  as  the  morning  air  she  rode  in,  came  Pepa. 
They  had  been  watching  for  her.  The  cheer  began 
and  rose  and  spread,  till  it  became  deafening.  She 
rode  slowly  along  all  the  line,  bowing  and  smiling  at 
them.  The  enthusiasm  doubled  and  was  wild.  She 
was  now,  irrevocably,  the  genius  of  the  army.  Emo 
tion,  playing  free  here  in  these  troops,  had  enthroned 
her  as  the  spirit  of  victory.  She  carried  her  part 
proudly,  and  the  cheer  continued  when  she  had 
passed. 

Thus,  they  being  flushed  with  triumph,  the  march 
to  the  east  in  the  early  morning  began.  The 
marshes  near  the  shining  lake,  the  reeds,  the  corn 
fields  and  the  meadows  about  Ocotlan,  were  passed. 
Bright  they  were  in  the  light  of  an  autumn  day; 
and  even  the  lessening  adobe  walls  shone  golden  in 
the  sun.  The  townspeople,  still  stupefied  at  these 
strange  and  quick  running  events,  came  to  the 
town's  edge  and  watched  the  column  go.  T\\&  presi- 
dente  came  too,  early  as  it  was.  And  behind  him 
came  Enriqueta.  Enriqueta  stopped  at  the  end  of 
the  last  street,  held  her  hand  to  shade  her  eyes,  and 
stared  eagerly  out  across  the  fields  to  the  departing 
troops. 

"Oh!  they  have  not  got  him,  my  husband,"  mur 
mured  she.  "  They  have  not  caught  that  beautiful 
young  man ! " 

And  she  turned  back  to  her  barred-in  daughters  — 
who  knows  with  what  sighs  in  her  virtuous  Castilian 
bosom  over  the  quick  riddance  of  that  menace  to  her 
household  ? 

Thenceforward,  for  six  shining  days,  only  triumph 
met  the  advancing  troops.  News  of  the  victory,  of 
the  coming  successes,  changes,  golden  times,  spread 
speedily  in  all  directions.  The  army  arrived  at  no 


,5S  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

point  to  which  the  fame  of  its  march  had  not  come 
before  it.  All  along  the  way  the  poverty-stricken 
people  of  the  country,  the  ragged  children  and  the 
sullen  men,  crowded  to  see.  They  looked  with  awe 
on  that  strange  woman  who  rode  before,  and  with 
wonder  and  admiration  on  the  man  who  should 
come  to  be  a  king.  On  the  whole,  they  were  not 
displeased  with  the  idea.  Many  villages  received 
the  victorious  band  with  open  arms,  such  opposition 
as  they  contained  fleeing  as  the  band  came.  Even 
some  of  the  officials  and  police,  disgusted  with  a 
government  that  had  bandied  them  about  like 
straws,  paid  them  when  it  could  and  let  them  starve 
when  it  could  not,  joined  the  new  cause. 

Round  all  the  lake's  eastern  end  there  was  no 
power  of  resistance  sufficient  to  organize  itself  and 
strike  a  blow.  The  little  army  grew  at  every  step 
it  took.  Ragged,  gaunt  prospectors  and  hungry 
sowers  of  corn  threw  away  tools  and  came  down  out 
of  mountains  to  be  a  part  of  this  unhampered  prog 
ress.  The  loose  population  of  many  towns  joined 
in  and  swelled  the  cheers  for  Vicente  and  la 
capitana.  Wherever  the  army  halted  there  was 
plenty  for  it  to  eat,  arranged  for  secretly  between 
clergy  and  messengers  sent  before.  And  in  every 
town  the  priest  was  Vicente's  friend  and  helper.  It 
was  the  priest  who  made  him  familiar  with  every 
resource  of  the  place;  who  did  more  than  any  other 
ten  men  to  the  success  of  the  expedition;  who  per 
suaded  the  holders  of  corn,  reluctant  to  sell  on 
credit  when  the  cash  was  wanting,  that  the  specula 
tion  was  safe.  Thus  was  the  good-will  of  the  people 
always  maintained.  Pillaging  was  instantly  pun 
ished.  Order  was  improved  and  made  a  necessity. 
The  undercurrent  of  power  which  came  always  from 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  159 

the  church  did  not  make  itself  outwardly  noticeable. 
But  it  was  a  never-failing  force  such  as  Vicente 
alone  could  rightly  measure,  bearing  him  and  his 
hopes  on  to  the  end.  He  knew,  too,  who  it  was 
that  most  nearly  personified  that  force.  Many  a 
time  he  burned  to  break  his  long  silence  regarding 
his  unknown  hermit  benefactor.  But  he  held  his 
peace. 

From  eight  hundred  his  forces  grew  to  a  thousand, 
to  twelve  hundred,  to  fifteen  hundred,  to  two  thou 
sand.  The  vigilance  in  search  of  horses  was  not 
abated.  In  those  days,  as  now,  the  country  was 
dotted  with  mammoth  haciendas  or  ranches.  Some 
of  them  are  many  leagues  square,  containing  hun 
dreds  of  all  sorts  of  domestic  animals  and  raising 
enormous  crops  of  every  grain  and  fruit  known  to 
the  semi-tropical  climate.  Near  the  easternmost 
point  of  the  lake  lay  one  of  these.  It  was  called 
the  Hacienda  of  the  Good  Faith.  Its  owner,  a 
Spaniard,  long  since  disgusted  at  the  throwing  off 
of  the  Spanish  yoke,  hating  the  half-governments 
that  had  staggered  successively  and  broken  under 
the  burden  since  the  end  of  Spanish  reign,  took  it 
into  his  heart  to  belie  his  place's  name  and  play  bad 
faith  with  existing  circumstances.  Spain  being 
an  impossibility,  he  hailed  a  king,  any  king,  with 
delight.  He  received  word,  before  the  arrival  of 
Vicente,  of  the  need  of  horses.  He  burst  into  glee, 
swore  he  would  lose  his  soul  for  such  a  cause,  and, 
forgetting  how  his  ancestors  had  trampled  with  an 
equal  enthusiasm  the  very  government  from  which 
Vicente  was  descended,  scoured  the  adjacent  country, 
drained  it  and  his  own  lands  of  what  horseflesh 
there  was  to  be  found,  and,  on  the  coming  of 
Vicente,  clapped  him  on  the  back  with  an  oath,  put 


160  A   DREAM    OF  A    THRONE 

himself  on  familiar  terms  with  the  leader  most 
odiously,  and  turned  over  scarcely  less  than  seven 
hundred  horses  to  the  little  army. 

The  gift  was  not  to  be  despised.  It  was  a  god 
send.  The  cavalry  had  already  been  increased  to 
nearly  three  hundred;  they  numbered  now  a  thou 
sand.  Few,  indeed,  were  the  recruits  from  this  half 
wild  people  who  could  not  ride,  and  ride  well.  If 
there  were  no  saddle,  then  they  could  ride  without 
saddle.  The  high  spirits  of  the  men,  having  in 
creased  steadily  since  Ocotlan,  burst  out.  The 
Spaniard  was  carried  on  shoulders,  dropped,  left  on 
his  hacienda,  and,  possibly,  forgotten.  And  the 
army  went  on. 

It  rounded  the  irregular  points  and  bays  that 
make  the  lake's  eastern  end,  and  gradually  turning 
westward  again  proceeded  straight  along  the  southern 
coast.  When  they  should  have  traversed  more  than 
half  that  coast  they  should  arrive  at  the  town  of 
Tizapan,  Doroteo's  native  place.  Doroteo  had 
promised  the  army  a  royal  reception  there. 

Pepa,  during  this  triumphal  passage,  was  the 
same  unreadable  Pepa.  There  were  times  when  she 
was  gay  and  her  laugh  rang  out  like  a  bird's  note. 
She  would  be  the  embodiment  of  a  wild  joy  for 
hours.  She  would  gallop  along  the  lake's  edge, 
singing  as  she  went.  She  would  thread  her  way 
among  the  towering  rocks  that  narrowed  the  path, 
in  untamed  mood.  But  her  good  spirits  seemed  not 
altogether  natural.  During  these  days  the  eyes 
that  watched  her  most  constantly,  like  the  eyes  of  a 
cat,  were  Doroteo's. 

"There  is  mental  fever  in  that  happiness,"  said 
Doroteo  to  himself. 

The   majority   of    the    time,    however,    she    was 


A    DREAM  OF   A    THRONE  161 

gloomy.  This,  too,  was  unnatural  to  her.  She 
rode  at  times  all  the  day  slowly  in  advance  of  the 
troops,  wrapped  in  melancholy.  She  would  speak 
to  no  one.  She  did  not  laugh  or  sing.  She  would 
not  even  turn  to  look  at  them.  If  any  rode  up  and 
saw  her  face,  it  was  clouded,  and  she  grew  angry 
and  ordered  them  not  to  speak  to  her.  She  arose  on 
certain  mornings  from  such  beds  as  Vicente  had 
been  able  to  secure  for  her  or  as  she  had  secured  for 
herself,  with  the  strained  look  of  the  eyes  that 
marks  one  who  has  not  slept.  Then  on  those  days 
the  presence  of  others  irritated  her.  A  change  had 
come  over  Pepa.  Those  near  her  saw  it,  wondered 
at  it.  She  was  inscrutable.  Most  of  all  she  was 
restless.  Nothing,  nothing  satisfied  her  now. 

The  column  was  one  day  advancing  round  an  arm 
of  the  lake  at  its  southeastern  shore.  The  moun 
tains  here  descended  almost  to  the  water,  their 
peaks  towering,  rocky,  overhead.  The  path  at  their 
feet  was  narrow.  The  girl  was  in  front,  Vicente 
following  her  closely.  Doroteo  and  Fortino,  lead 
ing  the  cavalry,  were  behind  them,  and  the  horse 
and  foot  wound  a  tortuous  way  at  the  lake's  edge. 
Pepa  had  been  silent  all  the  day.  Vicente  spurred 
to  her  side.  There  was  barely  room  for  the  two 
horses,  his  being  next  the  water. 

"Your  love  for  me,"  he  said  gently,  "is  deep  and 
true;  is  it  not  so?  " 

She  turned  her  head  and  looked  at  him.  This 
riding  in  sun  and  wind,  and  this  continued  hardship 
of  an  army's  life,  seemed  only  to  have  increased  her 
beauty.  It  was  her  true  sphere. 

"  You  have  never  doubted  it  ? "  she  said,  speaking 
unusually  low. 

"  No.    Yet  true  love  turns  first  to  the  one  it  loves, 
ii 


162  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

brings  every  burden,  tells  every  thought  and  feel 
ing.  Then  why  are  you  changed,  Pepa?  What  is 
it  that  has  come  over  you  ?  I  have  watched  it  hour 
after  hour.  You  are  not  the  same.  We  are  bound 
together  in  so  deep  a  destiny,  and  every  step  we  are 
taking  now  means  so  much,  that  there  should  be 
knowledge,  harmony  between  us.  From  a  dream  it 
takes  on  some  little  of  the  form  of  reality,  though  it 
be  only  begun.  And  I  can  let  my  mind  go  on  and 
find  you  a  queen.  Then  it  is  vital  to  me  that  some 
thing  is  changing  you.  What  is  it?  " 

She  went  on  in  silence,  pale.  After  a  time  she 
looked  up  at  him  again. 

"I  think,"  she  said,  "it  is  because  I  have  of  late 
finished  the  changing  from  being  a  girl." 

"Then  thank  the  waters  and  the  mountains,"  said 
he,  with  some  relief,  "for  they  made  you  as  you  are 
—  a  daughter  of  them." 

They  had  come  to  the  end  of  the  narrow  passage 
and  the  road  was  wider.  She  suddenly  gave  him 
that  old  dazzling  smile  and  galloped  away  far  ahead 
of  him,  spurring  ever  more  swiftly;  and  she  sang: 

"  Slender  and  strange  that  vessel  was,  and  bright, 

Bright  with  the  sacred  serpent's  glittering  scale. 
A  thousand  skins  their  million  points  of  light 

Flashed  from  its  sides  all  crystal  clear  and  frail, 
That  its  unearthly  ray. 
Lighting  the  fog-drowned  day, 
Left  o'er  the  leaden  sea  a  shining  trail." 

He  followed  her  with  eyes  in  which  there  was 
coming  a  sadness.  Much  as  he  hated  doubt,  scorned 
suspicion,  loved  faith,  Clarita's  words  would  come 
to  him.  Clarita  had  been  afraid  of  her. 

Quiroz  too  was  watching  her.      It  chanced  after  a 


A   DREAM    OF  A    THRONE  163 

time  that,  having  gradually  advanced  some  distance 
in  the  army's  lead,  he  overtook  her. 

"There  is  fever  in  the  gazelle's  eyes,"  said  he, 
coming  close.  "She  rides  madly.  She  spurs  and 
halts  and  spurs  again.  Ah,  it  is  weighing  on  her, 
a  burden  in  the  breast.  Pepa,  a  hundred  thousand 
moods,  each  more  beautiful  than  the  last,  I  swear 
to  God  have  I  counted  in  you  in  the  last  four 
days !  " 

She  did  not  repel  him  as  she  often  had  done. 
She  smiled  at  him,  too,  the  dazzling  smile. 

"  Heartburns  !  "  she  cried  mockingly,  and  laughed 
a  light  laugh. 

He  wheeled  his  horse  against  hers. 

"Yours  are  not  the  first  or  the  last,"  said  he, 
his  eyes  gleaming  on  her,  "or  the  only  heartburns. 
You  can  move  heaven  and  earth.  I  have  told  you 
so  a  dozen  times  before.  It  is  not  the  right  nor  the 
dreams  —  it  is  blood  like  yours  that  does,  and  dar 
ing  like — well,  I  have  been  said  to  dare.  Remem 
ber;  there  are  other  heartburns  than  yours." 

High  rocks  at  a  turn  in  the  road  here  hiding 
them,  he  was  dazzled  then  by  the  expression  of  her 
face  and  her  unusual  action.  She  put  out  a  quick, 
hot  hand  and  placed  it  half  roguishly  on  his  as  it 
lay  on  the  saddle's  horn.  Whether  it  was  his  fancy 
or  not,  he  believed  she  pressed  his  fingers  with 
hers;  and  she  dashed  away  feverishly,  throwing  a 
flash  of  the  eyes  over  her  shoulder.  She  left  his 
blood  leaping  like  fire  in  his  veins. 

At  noon  of  the  fifth  day  they  arrived  thus,  having 
increased  still  more,  at  a  town  called  Jiquilpan. 
There  was  a  little  body  of  recruits  promised  from 
the  mountains  here.  There  was  a  messenger  to 
arrive  from  the  monastery.  There  were  more  horses 


1 64  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

to  be  secured  and  a  more  thorough  organization  of 
the  forces  to  be  accomplished.  For  Vicente  believed 
that  before  many  days  his  enemy  would  have  returned. 
He  decided  to  remain  in  Jiquilpan,  drilling  his 
troops,  the  rest  of  that  day  and  all  of  the  next,  mak 
ing  straight  for  Tizapan  on  the  day  after  the  mor 
row.  Tizapan,  he  had  told  Doroteo,  seemed  always 
to  hang  in  his  mind  as  an  objective  point,  a  place  of 
meaning. 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Doroteo. 

"  I  do  not  know.  That  place,  its  very  name,  has 
weighed  on  me  from  the  first.  Who  knows  ?  Rodrigo 
may  meet  us  there.  I  want  to  enter  it  in  better 
condition." 

"He  will  have  to  ride  like  the  son  of  the  devil  if 
he  does,"  said  Doroteo. 


CHAPTER  VI 

TO  travel  by  night  those  rockbound  ways  over 
the  mountain  ridge  that  separates  the  lake 
from  the  leveler  regions  about  Guadalajara,  is  to 
make  a  lonely  journey,  let  the  night  be  beautiful  as 
it  may.  By  starlight  the  way  is  uncertain  and  full  of 
gloom ;  the  peaks  are  vast  shadows  against  the  sky, 
the  ravines  are  hollows  of  unknown  depths  and  mys 
tery.  If  there  be  a  moon,  the  scene  is  an  enchanted 
one.  Crags  rise  misty  white  at  every  turn ;  shrubbery 
stands  a  formless  mass  melted  into  gray  continuity ; 
from  the  summit  of  a  ridge  distance  unmeasured 
stretches  out  before  one,  limitless,  moonlit,  drowned 
at  last  in  the  white  silence  leagues  upon  leagues  away. 
But  if  there  be  one  of  those  swift  night  storms  hurling 
himself  across  the  mountains,  the  way  is,  in  spite  of 
that  diabolic  company,  more  solitary  still.  The  peaks 
are  sheds  to  pour  the  water  in  torrents  down  upon 
the  path.  The  thunders  roar  and  crash,  fighting  the 
crags  and  bursting  in  fury  over  the  answering  ravine. 
The  evil  spirit  of  the  lightning  rips  the  blackness  with 
a  sudden  blinding  glare  of  its  unholy  passion. 

Beating  his  lonely  way  through  a  night  like  this 
rode  a  horseman.  He  had  his  teeth  ground  together, 
his  sombrero  low  over  his  face,  his  hair,  unkempt  and 
wild,  wet  with  rain.  His  horse,  apparently  accus 
tomed  to  such  journeys,  cared  not  at  all  for  the  light 
ning  or  the  thunders.  It  went  steadily,  desperately 
on,  cutting  its  way  into  the  thick  of  the  storm,  stum- 


i66  A   /MY-.. .':/   OF  A    THRONE 

bling  now  and  then,  but  making  sure  progress.  And 
to  the  rider  the  storm  mattered  little.  Was  the  way 
solitary  ?  He  and  his  soul  were  more  solitary  still.  Was 
the  blackness  like  that  which  succeeds  a  burnt-out  pas 
sion  of  the  heart,  the  death  of  hope?  He  had  carried 
that  blackness  in  him,  was  carrying  it  still,  had  walked 
with  it  through  the  course  of  years.  Was  there  no 
cessation  of  the  lightning's  blinding  tyranny,  devilish 
glee,  over  his  unanswering  spirit?  Likewise  had  his 
heart  grown  callous  to  tyranny. 

The  hours  of  riding  thus  had  little  measurement, 
little  meaning  to  him.  It  may  have  been  midnight, 
or  earlier  or  later,  when,  having  passed  the  ruggedest 
portion  of  the  way  and  issued  out  of  those  mountain 
jaws,  he  turned  at  length  into  the  more  open  road 
that  leads  over  plain  and  through  valleys  to  the  dis 
tant  city.  Hardly  had  he  done  so  when  he  heard 
upon  that  road  footsteps  out  of  the  -deep  night  be 
hind  him.  He  did  not  turn,  only  instinctively  shrank 
into  himself  and  went  on.  The  sound  at  length  was 
nearer,  the  approach  of  a  horse  that  followed.  The 
lightning  flashed  out  and  he  heard  the  animal  behind 
him  suddenly  shy,  it  having  caught  sight  of  the  rider 
before.  Then  the  darkness  was  there  again  and  the 
rider  before  and  the  rider  behind  kept  on  in  their 
uncongenial  course. 

He  before,  from  long  habit  unmoving,  expression 
less,  and  from  long  necessity  cowed  with  a  kind  of 
buried  desperation  before  men,  involuntarily  urged 
his  horse  on  the  faster.  He  lost  at  length  the  sound 
behind  him.  Then  another  flash  lit  all  the  wide, 
irregular  valley  and  the  peaks  cut  clear  against  the 
glare.  And  the  horse  behind  came  nearer,  trotting 
a  quick  trot.  The  first  rider,  suddenly  thrilled  with 
a  sensation  like  unreasoning  fear,  spurred  on  and 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  167 

trotted  likewise.  There  was  a  half-hour  of  this,  the 
one  unchangeably  following  the  other,  the  first  shrink 
ing  like  a  criminal  as  he  rode. 

o 

The  last  rider,  fugitive  as  he  was,  did  not  shrink, 
nor  was  there  in  him  any  of  the  feeling  of  the  cowed 
or  the  hunted.  He  had  been  startled  to  see  the  other 
suddenly  before  him,  where  previously  there  had  been 
no  one.  The  lightning  had  shown  him  the  rugged 
path  opening  into  his  smoother  one  out  of  the  moun 
tains,  along  which  the  other  must  have  come.  That 
other  path,  he  knew,  could  lead  only  to  Chapala  or 
to  some  portion  of  the  more  easterly  shore.  Some 
thing  in  the  mysterious  apparition's  manner  suggested 
stealth  to  the  follower  and  his  coming  thus  in  the 
night's  middle  from  that  region  roused  all  the  fol 
lower's  alertness.  This  might  be  some  messenger  of 
his  enemies.  Hence  he  spurred  up  as  an  experi 
ment.  The  other,  seeming,  by  the  intermittent  glares, 
to  crouch  upon  his  horse,  spurred  up  also.  So  the 
trot  before  and  the  following  trot  were  continued,  the 
first  with  some  unknown  habitual  dread,  the  last  with 
relentless  purpose.  The  storm  was  passing  and  the 
rain  was  lighter.  The  flashes,  too,  were  less  frequent. 
The  road  being  now  more  secure,  he  in  front  dug 
spurs  into  his  steed  and  galloped.  The  muscles  of 
his  face  were  drawn  like  cords,  and  his  ears  strained 
to  catch  the  sound  behind.  The  dreaded  change 
was  not  wanting ;  the  horse  behind  broke  also  into  a 
gallop.  The  dread  of  the  first  rider  changed  into  a 
burdening  fear.  He  was  no  longer  capable  of  sharp 
terror.  Into  his  strange  mind  came  the  query,  why 
should  he  fear?  —  what  was  there  in  all  the  earth  to 
cause  dread  to  him?  No  matter.  Dread  had  grown 
to  be  a  part  of  his  daily  life.  It  was  the  first  habit 
of  his  mind.  So,  needlessly,  as  a  matter  of  course, 


1 68  A   DREAM   OF  A    THRONE 

he  fled,  and  the  relentless  beat  of  hoofs  followed  him. 
He  ground  his  teeth  still  more,  leaned  over  his  horse's 
neck,  and  spurred  on  faster.  His  pursuer  spurred  to 
equal  speed.  An  hour  of  this  and  the  horses  were 
panting.  Fancying  the  other's  pursuing  pace  slack 
ened,  the  first  rider  drew  sullenly  in  and  his  horse 
trotted  slowly.  The  clouds  were  passing  and  there 
was  the  faint  light  of  a  more  ordinary  night.  The 
second  rider  drew  in  also,  and  the  slow  trot  of  the 
one  kept  pace  with  that  of  the  other. 

The  first  animal  regained  his  wind  and  its  rider, 
listening  always  to  that  remorseless  beat,  beat  of  the 
hoofs  behind,  regained  his  causeless  dread.  There 
was  no  inconsiderable  portion  of  the  journey  still  be 
fore  him.  To  listen  to  that  following  tread  thus 
calmly  all  the  way!  He  spurred  on  again  into  a 
gallop  and  the  other  followed.  The  gallop  grew 
faster  and  faster.  Out  from  the  flying  clouds  sud 
denly  broke  the  morning  star  in  the  east,  brilliant  as 
it  is  in  these  semi-tropical  altitudes  only,  a  mammoth 
jewel,  a  crystalline  moon.  The  speed  of  the  first 
rider  had  increased  still  more.  It  was  now  a  mad 
course.  And  he  who  followed  kept  the  distance 
between  always  the  same.  Nearing  the  city  after  an 
hour  of  this  strange  race,  the  course  was  like  a  flight 
of  panic.  It  was  on  a  run,  as  though  life  itself  were 
the  stake,  that  the  outlying  huts  were  passed. 

When  the  city's  streets  were  reached,  the  first,  as 
though  struck  with  reason  or  shame,  drew  up  to  a 
more  moderate  pace.  The  other  did  likewise.  The 
gray  of  dawn  was  beginning  to  appear  in  the  east. 
The  first  rider  made  a  circuit  round  the  outskirts. 
Under  other  circumstances  the  follower  would  not 
have  pursued  that  course.  He  would  have  made 
straight  for  the  town's  centre.  But  he  pursued  it 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  169 

now.  The  first  light  of  day  was  coming  faintly  into 
the  narrow  streets  when  the  two  arrived  thus  at  the 
great  walls  of  the  monastery.  At  their  beginning  the 
first  rider  spurred  up  yet  a  little  more.  He  flung 
himself  to  the  ground  and  beat  loudly  on  the  massive 
knocker  at  the  gates,  the  other  seeing  faintly  his 
tangled  hair.  While  the  door  was  being  opened  he 
who  had  dismounted,  hearing  the  following  horse 
close  at  hand,  could  not  resist  the  temptation  to 
throw  a  hasty  glance  over  his  shoulder  —  it  was  the 
fascination  induced  by  his  dread.  Then  he  went  in 
and  the  door  was  closed,  went  in  carrying  his  gloom 
and  his  solitude  with  him — to  be  still  under  the 
weight  that  made  him  more  like  a  fleeing  beast  than 
a  man. 

In  the  moment  of  that  backward  glance,  the  fol 
lowing  rider  had  perceived,  by  the  faint  coming  day 
light,  the  face  of  him  he  followed.  He  rode  on, 
wondering  at  its  monstrous  hideousness. 

"  At  least,"  said  he  at  last,  shaking  himself  free  of 
his  thoughts,  "  that  little  chase  has  brought  me  here 
an  hour  or  so  in  advance  of  my  calculations.  A  good 
honest  storm  this  was,  and  I  am  much  misled  if  the 
most  covered  part  of  my  shivering  skin  is  not  the 
wettest." 

An  hour  later  the  sun  came  up,  the  city  began  to 
stir,  and  all  the  streets,  sprinkled  by  hand  and  swept 
in  small  sections  by  bunches  of  broom-straw,  awoke 
yellow  and  clean  into  another  day.  The  rider,  having 
found  accommodations  for  his  horse  and  himself,  dry 
clothing  and  a  breakfast,  strode  away  at  seven  o'clock 
to  the  main  plaza.  He  had  made  himself  sure  of  the 
arrival  of  his  escaped  companions.  He  knew  the 
empty  barracks  they  would  be  likely  to  occupy.  He 
had  found  them  there,  every  man  sound  asleep, 


1 7o  A   DREAM  OF  A    Til  ROM: 

exhausted.  They  had  arrived  three  hours  before 
him. 

In  the  plaza  was  a  freshness  not  even  rivalled  in  the 
mountains,  a  glistening  of  glossy  leaves,  a  swaying 
of  fruit,  the  beauties  of  masses  of  flowers.  The  two 
pointed  towers  of  the  great  cathedral  pierced  a  sky 
than  which  yEgean's  own  could  not  be  bluer,  and 
wherein  were  no  traces  of  the  storm  that  was.  The 
bells  of  the  clock  on  the  long  white  government 
palace  were  multifariously  proclaiming  the  hour 
when  the  visitor  entered  the  wide  doors  beneath 
them.  He  knew  the  governor  had  a  habit  —  rather 
an  astonishing  habit  in  this  land  of  the  late  beginning 
of  business  —  of  coming  to  his  office  and  laboring 
alone  very  early  in  the  morning.  A  peon  sweeping 
the  stone  hall  let  him  in  and  knocked  for  him  at  the 
governor's  door.  The  governor  opened  it. 

"  Don  Rodrigo  !  "  he  cried  with  a  thrill  of  anxiety, 
and  led  the  visitor  in  and  closed  the  door  —  a  weary, 
stiff  visitor,  needing  rest  and  sleep,  but  determined 
and  alert  still. 

At  the  period  at  which  this  history  has  arrived,  the 
accomplishment  of  desirable  political  facts,  whatever 
their  nature,  was  impeded  by  hindrances  to  which  it 
is  difficult  to  do  full  justice,  the  labyrinths  of  which 
it  is  not  always  possible  to  comprehend.  That  evil 
genius  that  presided  over  the  series  of  fatalities  at 
tacking  the  many  Mexican  governments,  nothing 
appeared  to  satisfy.  It  did  not  suffice  that  the  Re 
public  had  passed  through,  was  passing  through,  gave 
every  evidence  of  a  continuation  in  passing  through, 
every  kind  of  political  disease,  exhausting  throe,  fatal 
paroxysm.  These  have  been  hinted  at  before.  In 
the  midst  of  these  must  come  menaces,  attacks, 
defeats,  from  without,  to  supplement  ambition,  un- 


A   DREAM   OF  A    THRONE  171 

dermining,  and  treason  within.  A  huge  and  over 
shadowing  country  to  the  north,  inspired  by  unworthy 
motives,  answering  the  pressure  brought  upon  her  by 
a  party  desirous  of  increasing  the  party  power  and 
the  territory  wherein  that  power  should  be  dominant, 
had  declared  war  on  its  puny  neighbor.  The  slave 
principles,  being  then  dominant,  launched  the  army. 
A  slave-holder  led  it.  After  fifty  years  it  is  not  easy 
to  find  a  historian  who  does  not  condemn  that  war  — 
for  the  slave  power  is  dead.  In  the  late  spring  of  the 
year  of  this  narrative,  namely,  eighteen  hundred  and 
forty-six,  General  Taylor  crossed  the  Rio  Grande 
and  invaded  Mexican  territory.  In  September, 
shortly  before  the  events  described  in  the  preceding 
chapters  of  this  book,  the  city  of  Monterey,  garri 
soned  by  an  army  of  nine  thousand  Mexicans,  was 
besieged  by  the  American  general  with  an  army  of 
seven  thousand.  For  several  days  the  place  held 
out,  giving  to  Worth  his  opportunity  for  that  gallant 
capture  of  the  Episcopal  palace  on  the  hill.  The 
nine  thousand  gave  up  to  the  seven  thousand. 
General  Ampudia  retreated  to  San  Luis  Potosi.  The 
Americans  were  coming  on  to  the  capital.  Further 
more  they  were  sending  another  and  a  greater  force 
to  Vera  Cruz.  It  was  vital  that  Taylor  be  crushed  at 
once  before  Scott  should  sweep  up  from  the  Gulf. 
This  was  the  news  which  had  arrived  at  Guadalajara 
not  long  before  Rodrigo's  return.  And  in  that  city, 
as  in  every  other  city  of  the  Republic  to  which  the 
news  had  come,  there  was  agitation. 

With  these  tidings  came  summons  from  Santa 
Anna.  He  was  to  leave  his  government  at  Mexico 
in  the  hands  of  Farias,  his  vice-president.  He  was 
to  march  at  once  in  person,  at  the  head  of  the  Mexi 
can  army,  against  Taylor.  He  needed  and  would 


1 72  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

have,  imperial  old  despot  as  he  was,  every  soldier  that 
could  possibly  reach  him  on  his  march.  Guadalajara, 
the  largest  city  save  his  own,  should  do  her  utmost. 
She  had  been  drained  —  drain  her  again.  She  was 
threatened  with  disaster  at  home  —  the  disaster  from 
abroad  was  more  threatening.  Santa  Anna  set  out 
from  his  capital  boldly,  little  knowing  it  was  only  for 
a  worse  than  useless  march,  to  culminate  in  the 
bloody  defeat  of  Angostura — leaving  behind  him 
dissent,  insurrection,  the  "  Polko  "  attack  on  his  un 
supported  government,  having  before  him  the  com 
ing  disastrous  winter,  Scott,  Churubusco,  humiliating 
amputation  of  that  great  north  limb  of  his  country. 

So  when  Don  Rodrigo  put  in  his  strong  plea  for 
men  and  showed  that  growing  danger  on  the  lake,  there 
were  other  calls  for  the  soldiers  he  so  much  needed. 
Were  there  any  soldiers?  The  governor,  foreseeing 
this  need  long,  and  pressed  at  last  to  superhuman 
effort  by  the  news  of  the  Monterey  disaster,  was 
raising  a  force.  How  large?  He  shook  his  head  :  a 
pitiable  two  hundred.  Cavalry?  Ay,  cavalry  —  not 
all  raised  yet,  promised  partly  from  other  towns,  to 
be  sent  off  as  soon  as  possible  to  join  Santa  Anna. 
The  good,  but  not  altogether  statesmanlike,  executive 
was  in  his  usual  torn  state  of  mind.  He  found  him 
self  now  between  two  dire  necessities.  Rodrigo  de 
clared  his  was  the  better  cause,  brought  in  all  his 
verbal  artillery,  grew  warm  and  desperate,  swore  the 
men  by  every  right  that  danger  created  should  be 
his.  The  exasperated  governor,  forgetting  for  once 
his  friendship  for  the  other,  lost  his  temper.  He 
cursed  Rodrigo,  Santa  Anna,  the  United  States,  life-, 
and  Heaven.  Rodrigo  considered  this  excusable,  but 
declared  again  for  the  men.  It  were  better,  said  he, 
to  strike  an  enemy  at  the  door  than  to  run  away  to  a 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  173 

distant  one.     The  governor  accused  him  of  partiality 
to  the  northern  invaders. 

"  Your  blood  will  be  boiling  up  in  their  support," 
said  he.  "  This  whirlwind  will  carry  you,  too,  Rod- 
rigo,  my  friend  in  distress,  away  to  fight  against 
your  adopted  country." 

"  Impossible  —  absurd  !  "  broke  in  Rodrigo.  "  The 
United  States  can  take  care  of  itself;  at  all  events, 
it  needs  not  me.  That  war,  thank  my  luck  and  some 
purple  dashes  in  the  landscape  of  the  past,  is  none  of 
mine.  I  would  not  be  a  part  of  it  so  long  as  there 
are  corners  of  this  untamed  land  to  bury  myself  in. 
I  am  occupied  with  a  little  war  of  my  own,  and  I  tell 
you  plainly  it  is  not  so  little  as  it  seems.  If  you 
value  your  State  and  your  safety,  in  the  name  of  rea 
son  give  me  whatever  weapon  you  have,  to  strike 
again,  and  give  it  to  me  now.  Your  two  hundred 
men  cannot  vitally  influence  the  fate  of  Santa  Anna ; 
hasn't  he  enough  of  your  fighting  blood  already? 
They  may  do  vital  work  here.  I  honestly  believe  two 
hundred  good  fighters  can  crush  this  uprising  now." 

"  Why,  you  young  hothead,"  said  the  governor, 
"  you  are  advising  the  executive  of  a  State  to  disobey 
the  order  of  his  superior ;  to  refuse  to  respond  to  the 
call  of  his  country  !  " 

"  Very  good,"  said  Rodrigo,  innocently  unconscious 
of  his  inferior  position ;  "  that  is  the  way  patriotic 
speeches  put  matters.  I  put  it  thus :  I  am  advising 
you  to  send  what  force  you  have  to  crush  a  danger,  a 
real,  live,  immediate  danger  at  your  door,  and  to 
think,  then,  of  the  more  distant  one  whose  progress 
your  little  band  of  cavalry  can  neither  aid  nor  retard. 
Besides,  you  know  enough  of  this  country  to  under 
stand  that  in  any  wind  you  totter  —  and  the  govern 
ment  that  seats  you.  Defeat  or  victory  for  Taylor, 


174  A    DREAM   OF  A    THRONE 

Santa  Anna's  government  will  go  down  with  the  next 
revolution,  and  you  with  it.  Santa  Anna  will  not 
come  to  upbraid  you  with  laxity ;  he  will  be  engaged 
in  catching  the  ruins  of  his  power  as  they  fall.  Polit 
ically,  you  die  shortly ;  so  does  every  other  officer  in 
this  swift-moving  kaleidoscope  of  governments.  At 
least  while  you  live  do  the  good  deed  of  defending 
first  your  own  State." 

Thus  did  the  argument  continue ;  and,  much  to 
the  chagrin  and  nigh  unbearable  nervousness  of  Rod- 
rigo,  it  continued  not  merely  through  that  day,  but 
through  several  days.  Meanwhile,  the  governor 
neared  prostration,  Santa  Anna  was  marching  to  de 
feat,  and  Vicente's  victorious  progress  was  going  on. 
Several  causes  contributed  to  this  exasperating  delay. 
The  little  troop  of  two  hundred,  small  as  it  was,  was 
not  yet  gathered ;  though,  in  the  eternal  Mexican 
spirit  of  delay,  it  was  promised.  There  is  an  unalter 
able,  to  a  pessimistic  philosopher  a  fatal,  inertia  in 
this  nation.  To  do  a  thing  promptly  seems  out  of 
the  province  of  its  activities.  Furthermore,  the  gov 
ernor's  very  doubt  made  matters  slower,  for  a  man 
sure  of  his  purpose  goes  more  quickly  at  it  than  one 
in  doubt. 

Bonavidas  on  the  second  day,  renewed  in  strength 
and  appearing  refreshingly  emaciated  (for  that  ap 
pearance  did  truly  seem  a  necessary  accompaniment 
and  indication  of  good  health  in  him,  he,  when  ex 
hausted,  assuming  a  puffiness  about  the  large  eyes 
and  in  the  grayish  cheeks  that  might  have  been  taken 
as  indicative  of  a  bettered  condition) — Bonavid.is, 
praised  and  recommended  by  Rodrigo,  added  his 
persuasions  to  i\\cjefes.  He  also  went  hard  to  work, 
as  did  some  of  his  companions,  hastening  the  gather 
ing  of  the  force.  He  even  rode  to  towns  at  a  shorl 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  175 

distance.  On  the  evening  of  the  third  day  he  aston 
ished  the  governor  by  bringing  in  a  detachment  of 
ten  unexpected  and  unpromised  recruits.  He  had 
raised  them  up  from  the  dead,  said  Bonavidas  with 
an  uncanny  grin. 

According  to  a  calculation  afterward  proved  erro 
neous,  it  seemed  fast  nearing  the  time  when  all  aid 
would  be  useless  to  Santa  Anna.  This  Rodrigo  saw. 
His  exertions  at  persuasion  suddenly  ceased.  The 
governor  had  fallen  of  late  into  a  species  of  politi 
cal  trance.  Word  was  one  day  passed  to  Rodrigo's 
men  to  lie  quiet  till  the  next.  This  was  done.  The 
governor,  at  length  positively  ill,  did  nothing  that 
night.  The  following  morning  Rodrigo  brought  him 
a  map  of  what  he  believed  to  be  Santa  Anna's  route, 
—  a  map  of  the  route  a  force  from  Guadalajara  must 
take  to  join  him,  with  the  days  marked. 

"  It  is  impossible,"  said  Rodrigo,  with  a  pleasant 
sparkle  of  the  eye.  "  They  can't  reach  him  now  if 
the  Americans  blow  him  some  leagues  nearer." 

The  governor  ran  all  his  fingers  madly  through  his 
hair,  —  and  Rodrigo's  cause  was  won.  Owing  to  the 
accumulation  of  delay  after  delay,  the  force  was  not 
ready  to  start  till  the  morning  of  the  sixth  day.  That 
day  dawned  bright  and  dry.  Rodrigo  and  his  little 
band  of  escaped  warriors  had  come  to  be  like 
brothers.  The  twelve  others  were  as  eager  to  be  at 
the  fight  as  was  Rodrigo  himself.  They  regarded 
the  war  as  personal  property,  —  a  fine  little  private 
trouble  of  their  own  wherein  glory  and  victory  awaited 
them  on  the  margins  of  the  lake  —  and  revenge,  too, 
fascinating  goddess  as  she  was.  Two  hundred  and 
twenty-nine  horsemen,  including  Rodrigo,  Bonavidas, 
and  some  lieutenants,  started  away  in  spirits  tuned 
high  to  the  harmony  that  there  may  be  even  in  war. 


CHAPTER   VII 

THE,jeft's  men  did  not  direct  their  course  at 
once  to  Chapala.  After  crossing  the  divide 
they  made  a  slight  angle  to  the  west.  Rodrigo  was 
ignorant  as  to  the  present  whereabouts  of  Vicente. 
He  conversed  with  Bonavidas  and  others  on  the 
journey,  hearing  their  opinions.  He  himself  be 
lieved  the  revolutionist  must  have  arrived  by  this 
time  at  some  spot  on  the  lake's  opposite  shore.  He 
did  not  believe  it  would  be  so  far  west  as  Tizapan. 

"With  a  good  gait,"  he  said,  speaking  to  a 
soldier  familiar  with  the  lake,  "how  much  time  do 
we  need  to  overtake  him  at  a  point  some  twenty  or 
thirty  miles  east  of  Tizapan?  " 

"  If  we  wanted  to  be  in  condition  to  fight  after  it," 
was  the  reply,  "  I  should  say  we  could  do  it  in  three 
days.  And  that  would  mean  heavy  riding." 

Rodrigo  shut  his  jaws  and  rode  on  meditating. 
It  was  then  that  he  wheeled  off  to  a  path  that  leads 
to  the  lake  a  little  west  of  Chapala. 

"Are  you  going  to  circle  it  in  the  opposite  direc 
tion  ?"  asked  Bonavidas.  "  Not  bad  !  The  distance, 
I  should  say,  is  the  same  either  way.  We  will 
meet  him." 

"  Bonavidas,"  said  thcjcfe,  "  I  am  making  straight 
for  Ajicjic.  That  is  six  miles  west  of  Chapala.  On 
this  road  I  can  reach  it  almost  as  soon  as  I  could 
reach  Chapala,  perhaps  a  half  hour  later.  It  is 
already  past  noon.  We  shall  reach  the  lake  by 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  177 

three  o'clock.  In  Ajicjic  I  can  learn  something  of 
Vicente  —  as  well  there  as  another  place.  The 
news  of  his  army  will  have  spread.  Well,  there  are 
two  ways  of  reaching  the  opposite  side  of  a  lake. 
You  can  go  round  it  or  you  can  —  " 

"  Cross  it ! "  broke  in  Bonavidas  with  an  amaze 
ment  that  had  a  chuckle  in  it.  "  But,  save  your 
soul,  man,  cross  it  with  two  hundred  animals !  In 
the  name  of  the  saints,  did  you  ever  hear  of  an 
attempt  like  that  on  Chapala?  —  canoas  —  low  roofs 
—  miserable  vessels.  Why,  they  would  n't  hold  six 
horses  apiece.  Dead,  that  is  where  the  Repub 
lic's  honorable  army  would  be,  in  the  lake's  oozy 
bottom." 

Bonavidas  smiled  at  his  conceit,  and  his  gaunt 
face  expressed  no  such  objections  as  did  his  words. 

"  I  can  put  more  than  six  in  some  of  those  vessels," 
said  Rodrigo,  determined,  "if  I  have  to  pile  them 
one  on  the  other.  Suppose  he  had  come  as  far  as 
Tuxcueco.  We  could  cross,  at  the  slowest,  in  ten 
hours.  This  is  better  than  three  days." 

Bonavidas  whistled  long  and  low,  and  went  on 
in  dazed  mood.  Then  he  suddenly  clapped  his  leg 
with  his  hand  and  broke  out : 

"  We  will ! "  cried  he.     "  This  is  Sunday  !  " 

"Which  I  have  remembered,"  said  Rodrigo,  "and 
on  Sunday  Chapala' s  beach  is  crowded  with  canoas 
for  market  day.  I  am  going  first  to  Ajicjic  that,  if 
the  news  be  right,  I  may  begin  at  that  point  gather 
ing  up  ships,  thence  gather  them  all  the  way  back 
to  Chapala.  Hence,  a  sail  on  the  foam.  Poetical 
outlook ! " 

An  eager  delight  lit  the  unhealthiness  of  Bona 
vidas'  countenance.  They  were  riding  over  a  rough 
trail  with  cacti  and  stones  about,  and  here  and 

12 


178  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

there  a  flock  of  goats.  To  the  right  was  a  seemingly 
endless  chain  of  mountains,  to  the  left,  more  dis 
tant,  rose  St.  Michael,  low  and  round  (behind  whose 
bulk  lay  Chapala  and  the  water),  and  the  larger 
head,  called  Angostura,  lying  between  that  town 
and  Ajicjic  on  the  lake's  edge.  Between  Angostura 
and  the  opposite  mountain  chain  the  road  led, 
rising  to  a  hill,  to  whose  summit  the  little  army 
came.  They  looked  down  on  the  lake  and,  nearer, 
small  irregular  fields,  scores  of  them,  checkering  a 
level  stretch  from  mountains  to  water.  Out  of 
these,  Ajicjic's  church  thrust  up  a  single  gleaming 
tower  of  white.  Three  o'clock  found  the  troop 
sweeping  into  the  barren  plaza  of  that  fishing 
village. 

To  this  day  Ajicjic  can  claim  no  more  than  some 
two  thousand  souls.  It  has,  even  yet,  no  railroad, 
no  stage;  rarely  has  a  vehicle  been  seen  in  that 
primitive  place  other  than  the  awkward  ox-cart. 
Its  low,  unplastered  adobe  walls  stand  close  to 
gether.  The  streets  are  alleys  of  extreme  narrow 
ness  wherein  there  is  mud  when  it  rains,  dust  when 
it  is  dry,  rocks  and  swine  forever.  Nigh  every  alley 
twists  and  turns,  is  for  a  block  no  more  than  a 
gutter,  for  another  block  a  public  stable  for  burros. 
Yet  one  may  find  some  better  quarters.  The  plaza, 
though  it  is  only  a  bare,  brown  waste,  is  wide.  The 
open  court  before  the  church,  though  it  too  is  bare 
and  dirty,  with  lonely,  crumbling  walls  and  pillars 
about  it,  yet  has  in  its  centre  a  weather-beaten  cross 
that  speaks  of  service  to  the  Lord. 

The  troop  filled  the  plaza.  It  was  halted,  and 
the  inhabitants  of  the  town,  struck  with  amazement, 
either  shut  themselves  up  or  gathered  in  silence 
round  about.  Groups  of  brown  children,  absolutely 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  179 

naked,  sat  down  in  the  dirt,  thumbs  in  mouth,  to 
wonder  in  comfort.  Rodrigo  and  Bonavidas  began 
the  inquiries,  prefacing  them  with  jocularly  expressed 
friendship  to  certain  storekeepers  and  a  toss  of 
tequila  here  and  there  down  a  willing  throat.  Boats  ? 
There  hadn't  come  but  one  boat  to  Ajicjic  the 
blessed  day.  Ajicjic  was  losing  importance  in 
these  times.  On  market  days  everybody  went  to 
the  bigger  market  at  Chapala,  where  the  news  was 
dispersed.  And  this  one  boat?  It  had  come  from 
Tizapan  with  a  load  of  wood  for  the  lime  burners. 
Its  captain,  an  ancient  and  withered  Indian,  was 
sought  out  and  refreshed  with  drink.  Si,  he  knew 
of  Vicente.  It  was  said  the  day  before  in  Tizapan 
that  Vicente  and  his  army  had  arrived  at  Jiquilpan 
and  were  coming.  This  was  made  very  clear.  How 
big  was  the  army  ?  Oh  Lord !  it  was  large.  But 
hozv  large?  The  bewildered  old  barbarian  had  no 
idea  of  numbers.  "Very  many,"  said  he,  satisfied 
with  his  information.  But  how  many?  "Oh,  a 
hundred  thousand!"  cried  he,  much  put  to  it;  "and 
I  don't  care  what  be  the  government  so  it  lets  me 
alone  —  Mother  of  the  Lord !  let  it  leave  me  alone ; 
*  this  is  all  I  want  of  the  government !  " 

The  government  did  not  leave  him  alone.  His 
canoa  was  taken.  Rodrigo  treated  him  kindly  and 
promised  him  no  harm  should  come  to  his  vessel ;  it 
should  be  turned  over  to  him  on  the  morrow.  The 
old  owner  wailed  over  this ;  he  would  go  wherever 
his  ship  went.  Rodrigo  agreed.  He  could  cross 
with  them,  but  the  vessel  should  be  taken  and  at 
once.  So  two  of  his  soldiers  were  detailed  to  help 
pole  it  to  Chapala;  for  as  yet  there  was  no  wind. 

The  rest  rode  out  of  the  town  and  made  away 
toward  the  latter  place,  scanning  the  shore.  The 


i So  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

lake  was  as  still  as  the  rocks.  Its  glassy  surface 
threw  up  the  beams  of  the  lowering  sun  like  a 
mammoth  mirror.  Every  mountain  peak  hung  his 
shadow,  clear  and  blue  as  himself,  in  its  depths; 
and  below  those  hanging  summits  lay  a  mock  sky  as 
fathomless  as  its  counterpart  above. 

"This  is  damnation  for  a  wind,"  said  Bonavidas. 

"Out  of  that  stillness  a  wind  will  come  at  dusk 
from  the  west,"  replied  Rodrigo,  "or,  at  most,  a 
little  later.  Till  we  are  ready  it  cannot  remain  too 
still." 

The  road  led  round  a  wide  bay.  A  far  point,  ex 
tending  yonder  into  the  water,  marked  a  division 
from  which  both  Chapala  and  Ajicjic  could  be 
plainly  seen.  There  are  a  few  huts  on  this  point, 
and  the  place  is  called  San  Antonio.  There  are 
brick-kilns  there,  and  this  was  the  first  spot  since 
leaving  Ajicjic  where  canoas  were  found.  There 
were  five  of  them  lying  on  the  many -tinted  waters, 
their  masts  wrapped  tightly  with  the  sails.  They 
had  come  to  be  loaded  with  brick.  But  Sunday  is 
not  a  day  to  work  —  nay,  it  is  a  day  to  loll  in  the 
nearest  market  town,  particularly  if  there  be  news. 
Here  in  this  peaceful,  primitive,  fishing  region, 
people  feared  not  thieves.  The  vessels  were  de 
serted  ;  the  brick-kilns  smoked,  attended  by  one 
boy  only.  Soldiers  were  detailed  for  these  canoas, 
and  the  five  were  brought  on  (pushed  with  long 
poles  always  provided  for  these  craft),  along  the 
edge  of  that  next  broad  curve  across  whose  shining 
surface,  three  miles  away,  Chapala's  walls  crouched 
under  St.  Michael. 

Somewhat  disappointed  at  having  found,  thus  far, 
but  six  vessels,  Rodrigo  proceeded  with  all  speed  to 
Chapala.  The  loading  —  hazardous,  quixotic,  un- 


A   DREAM   OF  A    THRONE  181 

heard-of  plan  as  it  was  —  must  be  done  before  the 
wind  came.  The  stillness  so  common  to  the  afternoon 
during  the  dry  season  usually  became  roughness  at 
nightfall.  His  men,  apprised  of  the  bold  intention 
of  their  leader,  liked  the  novelty  of  it.  This  is  the 
spirit,  said  they,  that  wins.  They  cheered  the 
news.  The  very  difficulties  and  dangers  of  the  pro 
ject  recommended  it  to  Rodrigo.  To  gain  two  days 
and  a  half  by  that  quick,  unexpected  stroke,  was  to 
him  to  do  a  deed  the  idea  of  which  filled  him  with 
delight.  He  pictured  to  himself  the  queer  fleet 
lumbering  into  Tizapan  ahead  of  his  enemies.  He 
vowed  in  his  heart  he  would  beat  Vicente  at  Tizapan 
or  go  down  in  the  attempt.  He  knew  one  or  two 
animals  had  sometimes  been  brought  across  the  lake 
in  these  vessels.  If  one  could  be  brought,  why,  let 
the  thing  expand  —  go  to,  let  us  do  an  oddity. 
Originality  gains  much.  We  will  sail  with  two 
hundred  and  twenty-nine !  He  laughed  within  him 
self  exultantly. 

"I  am  a  boy  again,"  said  he,  "sailing  wooden 
butter-dishes  on  the  pond!" 

Now,  at  the  century's  end,  navigation  by  modern 
means  is  just  beginning  to  appear  on  Chapalac. 
There  is  one  old  steamer  full  of  vermin  and  rickety, 
exceedingly  small.  She  fell  over  once  in  the  water 
and  drowned  many  passengers.  There  is  a  new 

steamer  talked  of.  The  Hon.  S C ,  Her 

British  Majesty's  ex-consul  general  to  Sweden,  has 
a  little  yacht  that  skims  these  waters.  Otherwise 
the  shipping  is  the  same  that  has  conducted  the 
primitive  lake  commerce  for  hundreds  of  years.  At 
the  time  of  Rodrigo' s  daring  deed  (talked  of  yet  in 
all  that  section  of  the  State)  the  only  vessels  were 
the  canoas.  One  can  see  them  there  to-day  exactly 


182  A   DREAHf    OF  A    THRONE 

as  they  were  in  the  old  times.  The  largest  may  be 
sixty  feet  in  length  by  fifteen  broad.  They  are  flat 
bottomed,  seldom  measuring  six  feet  from  water  to 
thatch.  They  are  pitched  black  without.  Over 
nearly  one  half  of  the  vessel  there  is  a  pointed 
thatched  roof.  Some  of  them  to-day  have  roofs  of 
boards;  there  were  none  of  that  sort  then.  From 
the  floor's  middle  stands  the  single  mast  with  a 
pulley  in  its  top.  One  long  yard  is  hoisted  to  the 
mast's  summit  by  rope  and  the  pulley.  To  the 
yard  is  attached  the  single  square  sail.  This  can 
vas  is  often  phenomenally  large.  It  extends,  when 
spread,  far  out  beyond  the  sides  of  the  boat,  a  mam 
moth  expanse  of  glittering  white,  lacking  the  beauty 
of  the  more  graceful  sails  of  a  yacht,  employing  the 
one  plain  principle  of  more  surface,  more  progress, 
but  sometimes  adorned  with  the  vessel's  fantastic 
name  painted  in  black  across  all  the  shining  extent. 
The  speed  of  these  craft  is  of  course  not  high. 
Never,  since  the  lake  came  into  being,  has  there 
been  cause  for  haste  here.  The  wind  must  be 
pretty  well  behind ;  there  is  little  of  the  science  of 
tacking;  there  is  never  such  a  thing  dreamed  of  as 
sailing  against  the  wind.  The  rudder  is  a  large 
wooden  one,  operated  by  a  horizontal  handle  extend 
ing  over  the  boat's  stern.  Three  sailors  are  ample 
allowance.  Two  can  manage  a  vessel  if  the  weather 
is  fair  and  there  is  no  third.  There  are  known 
some  heroic  cases  in  which  one  person  has  sailed  a 
canoa  alone.  When  Cortes  built  his  vessels  in 
Tlaxcala,  carried  them  across  the  mountains,  and 
launched  them,  to  the  Aztecs'  consternation,  on  the 
lake  where  the  Aztec  capital  stood,  he  did  what  is 
agreed  to  have  been  an  astounding  thing.  It  is 
only  an  instance  of  the  fickleness  of  history  that 


A  DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  183 

Rodrigo's  less  astonishing  but  similarly  original 
deed  should  be  in  no  record.  It  lives  only  in  the 
minds  of  the  lake  people,  who  alone  know  the 
capacity  of  their  boats  and  the  difficulty  of  manag 
ing  a  fleet  of  them. 

Chapala  was  in  her  gayest  colors  on  this  day. 
Her  market  place,  even  at  four  of  the  afternoon, 
was  crowded.  There  had  gone  a  thrill  along  all  the 
lake's  borders  at  the  news  of  the  Battle  of  Ocotlan. 
This  being  the  first  market  day  since  the  fight, 
Chapala,  then  the  commercial  capital  (and  suffi 
ciently  removed  from  the  present  seat  of  war)  was 
crowded  with  eager  gossipers.  Hence,  when  Don 
Rodrigo  and  his  cavalry  suddenly  rode  in  on  the 
scene,  there  was  intense  excitement.  Before  that 
force  the  town  was  at  its  leader's  mercy.  He  soon 
received  confirmation  of  the  news  regarding  Vicente. 
He  even  received  better  information  of  the  number 
he  must  fight.  It  seemed  there  were  between  one 
and  two  thousand  horse  now  in  Jiquilpan.  A 
seriousness  settled  over  his  men  when  this  became 
known.  Rodrigo  sat  his  horse  in  silence  and  looked 
them  over,  slowly.  They  read  his  mind,  rallied 
round  him,  threw  up  caps  with  cheers,  and  swore  to 
follow  him  into  the  jaws  of  death. 

He  rode  then  to  the  beach.  His  expectations 
were  riot  unfounded.  This  busiest  of  all  commercial 
days  brought  thither  many  vessels.  They  stood  in 
a  long  line,  sterns  to  the  shore,  on  the  glassy  water. 
Some  lay  anchored  farther  out.  The  western  sun, 
casting  his  yellow  glare  over  all  the  motionless 
lake,  threw  shadows  of  masts,  black  lines  in  the 
yellow. 

They  were  speedily  counted. 

"Nineteen,"  said  Bonavidas. 


184  A  DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

"And  six  from  Ajicjic  and  San  Antonio,"  replied 
Rodrigo.  "Twenty-five.  Not  enough.  We  must 
have  thirty  at  the  least.  Bonavidas,  go,  you  and 
thirty  men.  Ride  east  for  not  a  minute  longer  than 
half  an  hour.  Chapala  is  on  a  right  angle  that  juts 
into  the  lake.  Ride  yonder  and  you  will  strike 
water  again.  There  are  sometimes  boats  there. 
Seize  every  vessel  you  find  and  pole  it  to  the  bluff 
at  the  foot  of  St.  Michael.  You  can  return  before 
I  have  succeeded  in  packing  these  poor  fish  into 
those  boxes." 

Bonavidas  and  his  thirty  men  rode  away. 

Where  the  rocky  hill  that  stands  over  Chapala 
laves  its  foot  in  the  water  there  was,  and  still  is,  a 
iedge  of  rocks.  The  road  led  over  this  rise,  and 
the  ledge,  immediately  at  the  shore,  was  a  little 
cliff  six  feet  in  height,  rising  perpendicularly  out  of 
deep  water.  The  place  is  now  much  altered  by 
blasting  and  civilized  improvement.  On  the  very 
spot  where  Rodrigo  loaded  his  vessels  (a  spot  some 
hundreds  of  yards  west  of  the  stretch  of  beach  and 
the  famous  old  salati]  there  now  stands  a  beautiful 
modern  villa.  Times,  even  here  in  inert  Mexico, 
have  changed ! 

A  proclamation  was  speedily  issued  to  the  people. 
Every  canoa  capable  of  crossing  the  lake  with  a 
horse  was  to  be  temporarily  confiscated  to  the  use  of 
the  government.  Care  should  be  taken  of  them. 
They  should  be  at  the  owner's  disposal  the  follow 
ing  morning.  Those  owners  who  so  desired  might 
send  one  man  each  or  themselves  go,  to  accompany 
the  boats.  Such  cargo  as  the  vessels  contained 
would  better  be  at  once  unloaded.  There  was  amaze 
ment  at  this  beyond  all  saying.  The  crowd  was 
thunder-struck.  What  impossible  deed  did  this 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  185 

portend?  There  was  some  grumbling.  There  was 
more  curiosity.  Rodrigo's  ever-ready  manner  and 
diplomacy  won  some  favor.  There  was  a  scramble 
for  the  boats,  and  a  hasty  pitching  out  upon  the 
sand  of  such  fruits  or  vegetables  or  rude  furniture 
as  they  contained.  Hence,  willingly  or  unwil 
lingly,  whether  they  cursed  or  laughed,  with  two 
hundred  armed  cavalrymen  looking  complacently  on, 
the  shippers  gave  up  their  property. 

Rodrigo  despatched  his  men  to  the  vessels,  the 
horses  being  herded  on  the  beach.  There  was  a 
hilarious  removal  of  sandals  and  shoes  and  a  rolling 
up  of  trousers,  shouts,  jests,  boisterous  fun,  and  a 
splashing  of  water  and  climbing  to  boats. 

"Now,"  cried  Rodrigo,  "all  hands  to  poles  — 
and  may  the  Virgin  give  us  two  more  hours  of 
calm ! " 

Rude  little  row-boats  went  scudding  out  to  such 
canoas  as  lay  at  a  distance.  Brawny  arms  and  backs 
were  strained  at  the  poles.  Brown  legs  moving 
along  the  upper  side  ledges  of  the  vessels  swelled 
with  exertion  as  the  great  hulls  glided  slowly  over 
the  mirror  of  the  lake.  In  half  an  hour  they  were 
halted  in  line  at  the  bluff,  where  the  ledge  of  rock, 
high  as  the  boats'  sides  or  a  trifle  higher,  was  only 
so  wide  as  to  permit  the  loading  of  three  vessels  at 
once.  The  town  was  scoured  for  timbers.  Heavy 
planks  fifteen  feet  in  length  were  thrown  from  the 
rock  to  the  sterns,  and  the  bridges  were  made. 
The  work  was  done  with  feverish  energy  and  in 
what  order  the  haste  and  the  novelty  permitted. 

"They  can  cross  the  bridge  easily  enough,"  said 
a  soldier.  "But  they  cannot  get  under  the  roofs." 

"Then  tear  the  roofs  away,"  said  Rodrigo. 

Hammers  and  timbers  for  levers  were  speedily  at 


186  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

work.  One  by  one  the  thatches  were  torn  off  and 
thrown  aside.  A  groan  went  up  from  the  crowd  of 
townspeople  at  this.  It  was  not  to  be  helped. 
Rodrigo  grimly  directed  the  work.  He  had  the 
power  in  his  hands;  he  had  entered  on  this  course. 
It  would  have  taken  a  bloody  protest  to  make  him 
abandon  it.  The  horses  meanwhile  had  been  fed. 
They  were  now  watered  at  the  lake's  edge. 

Out  of  the  meson  Clarita  had  come.  She  had 
seen  all  and  knew  the  purpose  of  it.  With  only  the 
light  of  her  eyes,  the  slight  pink  flush  of  her  face, 
and  the  absence  of  her  dimples  hinting  what  she 
felt,  she  crossed  the  plaza  toward  St.  Michael.  In 
a  crowd  of  townspeople,  going  in  that  direction  also, 
she  was  but  an  unnoticed  unit.  She  made  no 
haste.  She  was  joined,  as  she  entered  the  street 
leading  to  the  ledge  of  rocks,  by  Pepa's  mother, 
who  came  running  after  her.  Pepa's  mother  was 
worn  to  thinness  with  worry  over  her  daughter. 

"  My  girl  will  be  brought  home  to  me  dead,"  mur 
mured  she,  gloomily.  "Clarita,  I  have  seen  it  in 
twenty  dreams." 

Clarita  did  not  seem  to  hear.  Neither  did  it 
appear  that  she  saw  Pepa's  mother  or  any  of  the 
crowd.  She  was  quiet  and  dignified,  where  others 
ran  and  were  turbulent.  She  left  the  crowd  before 
she  reached  the  ledge  of  rocks  where  Rodrigo  was, 
and  to  which  the  horses  were  now  being  led  by 
threes  and  fours.  That  wonder  of  an  insane  deed 
made  others  crowd  about  the  spot  —  her  it  kept  at  a 
distance.  She  went  through  an  open  patio  of  a 
house  she  knew  that  stood  at  the  base  of  the  little 
mountain.  The  walled  court  was  empty,  and  its 
many  pomegranate  trees  were  as  still  as  painted 
She  sighed  heavily  and  (Missed  to  the  rear, 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  187 

feeling  as  deserted  as  this  lonely  court.  She  came 
out  of  the  rear  wooden  door  and  found  herself  at  the 
mountain's  lower  rocks.  Then  she  began  to  climb. 
The  mountain  side  was  steep  and  strewn  with 
boulders.  It  was  covered,  too,  with  shrubs  and 
flowering  plants.  She  rose  gradually,  and  was 
above  the  roofs  of  the  houses,  so  that  all  the  town 
was  like  an  irregular  floor  of  flat  red  tiles,  the  lake 
half  surrounding  it.  It  was  as  though  she  stood  on 
an  island.  She  saw  Bonavidas  and  his  men  riding 
to  the  northeast  a  mile  away.  She  saw  a  few  canoas 
in  that  direction  too,  round  the  far  side  of  the  cape 
on  which  Chapala  stands. 

It  was  not  at  these  she  cared  to  look.  She  climbed 
still  a  little  higher,  and  then  went  round  on  the 
mountain  side  till  she  stood  just  over  the  ledge  of 
rocks  and  the  crowd  of  people.  Then  she  watched 
it  all.  From  ihzjefe  and  his  men,  the  scrambling 
horses  and  the  distrustful  crowd,  she  turned  her 
eyes  many  times  across  the  lake  to  the  southeast. 
Tizapan,  Jiquilpan,  lay  there  where  those  distant, 
hazy  peaks  rose  out  of  the  water.  Oh !  that  it  were 
not  so  many  miles  across  that  shining  mirror,  that 
she  might,  at  least,  see! 

The  loading  of  the  first  canoa  began  with  vigor 
and  haste.  Looking  back  from  this  distance  on 
that  time,  and  remembering  the  slow  movements  of 
Mexicans,  the  strangest  feature  of  the  day  is  the 
rapidity  with  which  the  man  concluded  his  unusual 
task.  The  horses  were  left  saddled  and  bridled. 
There  was  to  be  no  extra  space  for  saddles  in  these 
boats.  The  bridge  of  planks  being  laid  from  rock 
to  stern,  the  first  horse  was  led  across.  He  stopped 
in  the  middle,  terrified,  and  pulled  back.  He  was 
cajoled,  and  finally  dashed  at  the  boat  snorting,  men 


1 88  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

before  him  pulling  and  men  behind  him  pushing. 
Other  shorter  boards  were  slanted  within  the  vessel 
from  the  high  stern  to  the  floor.  The  inclination 
was  necessarily  extreme  to  leave  the  boat's  naked 
bottom  unencumbered.  The  animal,  dashing  in  as 
he  did,  instead  of  running  down  this  last  decline, 
slid.  He  arrived  at  his  destination  with  some  of 
the  skin  removed  from  his  hind  legs,  so  that  his 
owner  cursed  viciously.  The  beast,  trembling  and 
flinching,  was  led  as  far  fore  as  possible.  Across 
the  bows  and  some  distance  toward  the  vessels' 
middles  are  heavy  staying  timbers,  too  low  for  a 
horse  to  pass  under.  Hence  all  the  snorting  cargoes 
must  be  crowded  in  the  spaces  aft  of  these  timbers, 
—  spaces  comprising  three  fourths  of  the  boats. 
The  horses  were  placed  sidewise.  It  was  found 
their  heads,  in  some  instances,  were  high  enough  to 
permit  their  looking  over  into  the  water.  As  so 
unusual  a  sight  may  terrify  an  animal  naturally 
sensitive  as  a  good  horse  is,  in  many  cases  it  was 
found  necessary  to  replace  the  halves  of  the  thatches, 
fastening  them  perpendicularly  instead  of  inclined, 
to  the  boats'  sides.  The  horses  thus  blinded  were 
more  quiet. 

That  effect  of  skinned  legs  was  repeated  with 
exasperating  frequency.  It  made  no  difference  to 
Rodrigo.  The  wounds  were  slight.  He  urged  the 
loading  on  with  an  indomitable  energy  and  good 
will  that  inspired  similar  qualities  in  his  men. 
There  was  frequently  much  trouble.  One  horse, 
having  started  across  the  planks,  broke  suddenly 
back  through  the  crowd  with  something  like  a 
scream,  jerked  him  who  held  the  bridle  into  the 
water,  and  dashed  away  not  to  be  caught.  Others 
struggled  and  kicked.  But  two  hundred  men  ready 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  189 

at  hand  can  accomplish  much.  Certain  beasts  were 
literally  carried  across  the  bridge. 

Thus  the  work  went  on,  three  vessels  at  a  time. 
The  three  being  filled,  each  was  manned  and  poled 
into  the  lake,  and  others  were  brought  up.  Beasts 
were  packed  in  some  like  cattle  in  cars  —  in  some, 
tighter.  There  was  occasionally  a  scuffle  of  loaded 
animals  within  and  the  noise  of  an  equine  dispute. 
Still  the  bare-armed  men  pulled  and  pushed,  yelled 
and  beat  and  persuaded,  till  each  unwieldy  bulk  slid 
with  a  thud  to  the  boat's  flat  bottom.  Nearly  every 
minute  Rodrigo  looked  away  to  the  west  and  scanned 
the  regions  of  the  setting  sun.  That  sun  came 
down  huge  and  red,  and  little  clouds  along  its 
course  lit  a  score  of  colors.  The  air  was  yet  as 
silent  as  the  peaks. 

"It  will  come,"  cried  he,  "and  it  comes  quickly. 
On  with  it !  Ah,  Bonavidas  —  what  luck  ?  " 

"Found  five,"  said  Bonavidas;  "they  are  coming. 
I  have  found,  too,"  continued  he,  "another  thing." 

He  leaped  from  his  horse.  At  that  moment, 
pushing  their  way  through  the  crowd  up  the  little 
ascent,  came  some  of  Bonavidas'  companions  bring 
ing  a  man  in  their  midst. 

"I  found  this  fellow  under  suspicious  circum 
stances,"  said  Bonavidas,  pointing  at  the  prisoner. 
"  We  were  wading  through  a  marsh  at  the  lake's 
edge,  something  over  two  miles  from  here  round  the 
point.  There  was  a  canoa  pulled  up  there  in  the 
mud,  looking  as  though  it  had  n't  been  used  for 
months.  There  were  three  big  rocks  there,  too, 
that  made  a  corner.  By  St.  Thomas,  there  was  a 
saddled  horse  standing  hid  in  those  rocks!  The 
place  is  wild,  and  there  is  n't  a  soul  living  for  miles. 
So  it  was  queer.  We  got  the  horse,  waded  out, 


i9o  A   DREA.V  OF  A    THRONE 

and  went  into  the  boat.  When  we  jumped  in  this 
person  leaped  up  out  of  a  sound  sleep.  Well,  I  was 
taken  aback  at  his  face.  I  can  take  a  plain  grave 
or  a  dead  body  or  a  good  honest  murder  and  never 
flinch.  But  this  man's  countenance  having  the 
looks  of  all  three,  and  yet  living  —  I  was  taken 
aback.  So,  after  glaring  at  me  like  a  goblin,  he 
suddenly  jumped  over  into  the  water  and  made  at 
the  rocks.  He  was  after  his  horse.  The  horse 
was  n't  there  and  I  ordered  a  chase,  and  we  took 
him.  He  acted  like  a  caught  rat.  Said  I,  He  may 
be  a  messenger  of  the  enemy  hiding  till  dark.  So 
I  took  him.  There  was  a  little  boat  that  I  think 
was  his,  tied  at  the  rocks,  oars  and  sail  and  provi 
sions.  When  I  questioned  this  man  he  acted  deaf. 
He  acted  crazy,  too.  He  fell  flat  down  and  grovelled 
like  a  slave ;  then  he  got  up  and  that  hellish  face  of 
his  looked  damned  troubled,  and  he  kept  pointing 
out  over  the  water.  I  said,  '  Come  on,  Senor  In 
ferno,  we  '11  to  the  captain.  I  am  somewhat  of  a 
skeleton  myself  —  Ha  !  ha  !  So  here  he  is,  and  the 
horse  and  the  provisions." 

The  creature  thus  described  shrank  like  a  slave 
indeed  in  the  midst  of  his  captors.  He  might 
formerly  have  been  a  man  of  good  size.  He  now 
looked  withered,  crouching.  His  manner  was  like 
that  of  one  come  out  of  the  dark,  one  having  been 
buried  away  for  many  years,  who  sees  day  and  hears 
voices  and  has  nature  and  humanity  about  him  for 
the  first  time,  and  is  dumb  and  afraid.  They  urged 
him  on  to  the  jefe  and  he  came,  cowed  and  sullen. 
He  was  so  still  that,  in  that  evident  dumb  dread,  one 
expecting  him  to  tremble  would  have  observed  with 
wonder  the  stillness.  He  pushed  back  his  sombrero, 
showing  long  matted  black  hair,  and  raised  his  face 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  191 

to  Rodrigo.  The  brow  and  the  eyes  were  those  of 
a  man  of  superior  intelligence,  but  in  the  latter  there 
was  no  light.  The  chin,  too,  would  have  been  strong 
and  firm,  but  that  a  distortion  extended  even  to  it. 
From  the  right  corner  of  the  mouth  almost  to  the 
ear  stretched  a  great  scar  drawing  all  the  skin  of  the 
face's  right  side  into  revolting  ugliness.  Rodrigo 
was  somehow  made  silent  by  the  vision.  He  knew 
he  had  seen  that  face,  and  where.  He  remembered 
the  long  night  of  his  escape  and  the  figure  he  had 
followed,  the  glimpse  of  the  face  at  the  monastery. 
To  have  seen  it  once  was  never  to  forget  it.  Long 
since  he  had  been  assured  that  there  was  some  vital 
connection  between  that  very  monastery  where 
Vicente  had  been  educated  and  the  revolution. 
His  suspicions  of  the  man  were  at  once  deepened. 
He  must  hold  him  prisoner.  But  he  was  softened  in 
his  presence,  like  one  who  hears  the  hollow  ravings 
of  the  insane  and  feels,  settling  over  him,  a  con 
sciousness  of  the  insane's  blackened  life.  After  a 
moment's  silence  the  jefe  said : 

"  Tell  me  who  you  are,  friend.  You  shall  not  be 
hurt.  If  you  cannot  speak,  can  you  at  least  hear?" 

The  figure  suddenly  stooped  down  to  the  sand  of 
the  road  and  wrote  in  it  with  his  finger : 

"  I  am  nothing.     Let  me  go.     He  will  starve." 

"Who  will  starve?" 

He  arose,  and  pointed  across  the  water  to  the  east. 

"  Crazy,"  said  Bonavidas. 

At  this  the  dull  eyes  of  the  stranger  grew  lurid. 
He  turned  to  Rodrigo  and  went  down  on  the  ground 
again,  raising  his  hands  and  distorting  his  face  still 
more.  Then  he  went  through  in  a  kind  of  panic  the 
most  indescribable  movements  of  pleading. 

There  was  no  time  to  lose ;  and  it  were  better  to 


i92  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

keep  this  prisoner.  He  might  be  some  clever  actor, 
an  enemy,  and  a  messenger.  But  where  to  keep 
him?  Chapala's  friendship  was  uncertain,  and  the 
jail  was  broken  open,  some  prisoners  having  escaped 
with  the  aid  of  friends  since  the  withdrawal  of  the 
jefes  men.  There  was  but  one  thing  to  do,  and  the 
decision  was  quickly  made. 

44  Search  him  and  two  of  you  guard  him.  I  will 
take  him  with  me  across  the  lake,"  said  Rodrigo. 

Feeling  as  though  he  had  come  out  of  a  bad 
dream  he  turned  away  to  his  work.  The  man  was 
searched  and  nothing  found.  He  was  led  to  the  foot 
of  the  mountain  and  kept  there. 

Meanwhile,  the  loading  had  gone  steadily  on  and 
the  noise  of  it  was  the  noise  of  scrambling  beasts  and 
shouting  men  and  laughing  spectators.  The  sun 
neared  the  horizon  and  all  the  west  was  ablaze.  The 
vessels  from  San  Antonio  arrived  at  five  o'clock, 
poled  slowly  along  the  shore,  their  pointed  prows 
cutting  the  motionless  lake  like  steel  and  their  drip 
ping  poles  gleaming.  At  that  hour  the  work  was 
not  half  done.  The  five  additional  vessels  Bonavidas 
had  discovered  in  his  two  mile  journey  came  in  at 
half-past  five. 

"  Bonavidas,  you  are  my  friend  in  need,"  said  the 
jefe.  "  We  are  thirty  sail  now,  if  my  old  Indian 
from  Ajicjic  arrives  before  the  wind  knocks  this 
rickety  loading  scheme  into  impossibility.  Hurry, 
boys !  Pray  for  yet  another  hour  of  calm." 

As  he  spoke,  round  Angostura  point  nearly  two 
miles  from  the  west  came  floating  the  black  hull  and 
slim  mast  of  the  only  vessel  that  lacked.  Then-  wai 
a  cheer  at  sight  of  it.  It  seemed  now  nothing  could 
prevent  a  happy  outcome. 

"Unless,"  said  Bonavidas,   "the  wind  comes   not, 


i 
A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  193 

and  we  are  left  hanging  out,  boxed  up  with  a  lot  of 
horses  in  a  dead  calm.  Pleasant  night  would  that 
be." 

The  two  boats  now  being  poled  to  the  ledge 
Rodrigo  knew.  They  were  the  "  Delirium  "  and  the 
"  Goddess  Venus."  As  usual  Doroteo's  men  had 
brought  their  cargoes  of  fruit.  The  jefe  smiled  a 
grim  smile  at  those  vessels,  remembering  their  owner, 
his  feline  manner,  his  pointed  moustaches,  his  animal 
ferocity  in  the  fight. 

"  I  can  confiscate  these,"  said  he,  "  with  a  good 
conscience." 

Ten  horses  were  crammed  into  the  "  Goddess " 
and  eight  into  the  little  "  Delirium,"  which  could 
with  difficulty  hold  even  that  number. 

The  girl,  high  up  on  the  mountain  side,  still 
watched  it  all.  They  had  brought  that  crouching 
prisoner  thus ;  would  there  be  another  prisoner  on 
the  morrow  brought  so  before  his  captor?  If  such 
should  be,  thought  she  sadly,  he  will  hold  his  head 
more  erect  than  this.  Two  hundred  and  twenty-nine 
horsemen  she  counted  —  two  hundred  and  twenty- 
nine.  How  happy  they  were !  How  eager  they 
were  !  Strange,  strange  world  it  is ;  over  that  which 
is  laughter  to  some,  others,  alas,  must  weep  !  She 
had  never  felt  so  lonely ;  she  had  never  seen  all  the 
earth  so  homeless.  At  least  the  lake,  the  lake  that 
was  the  mother  of  them  all,  might  be  her  friend. 
Perhaps  it  would  bring  no  wind.  She  looked  again 
and  again  across  the  miles  of  water.  It  was  to  her 
as  though  she  were  at  fault  for  not  piercing  that 
distance  and  seeing  under  those  peaks.  She  grew 
restless.  To  see  them  preparing;  to  see  them  go ; 
to  watch  them  long,  long  —  lessening  sails,  darkening 
sky,  rising  waves;  to  lose  them  at  last  yonder  in 

'3 


i94  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

the  distance  where  her  brother  was ;  to  find  herself 
alone  in  the  midst  of  night,  the  army  gone  to  seek 
him,  the  darkness  and  the  silence  only  for  her,  and 
the  bitter  dreams  of  the  things  that  would  happen 
there  under  the  southern  peaks.  To  watch  one's 
own  army  with  one's  own  blood  in  it  march  away, 
this  many  a  woman  knows  to  be  a  bitter  thing.  To 
sit  thus  in  calm  and  see  your  blood's  enemy  prepare 
his  forces,  laugh  over  the  future  that  hangs  so  heavily 
over  you,  and  to  be  unable  even  to  go  to  the  scene 
of  the  fight,  this,  too,  is  a  bitter  thing. 

"  Oh  Holy  Mary !  "  said  she,  clasping  her  hands  on 
her  knees,  "  how  am  I  to  sit  thus  and  see  them  go !  " 

She,  too,  watched  the  west.  She  prayed,  almost 
holding  her  breath,  that  there  where  the  mountains 
lowered  and  rounded  the  narrow  western  end  with 
blue,  she  might  see  no  white  mist.  She  was  fearful 
when  she  looked.  It  became  pain  to  look.  But  her 
fears  were  of  no  avail. 

Few  are  the  spots  where  the  sunsets  are  such  as 
these.  The  red  ball  came  to  the  mountain's  summit 
and  seemed  to  rest  a  moment  as  balancing  himself  on 
that  jagged  line  of  porphyry,  glaring,  a  monstrous  eye 
of  fire  that  poured  light  over  all  the  lake  till  the 
thirty  vessels,  outraging  the  region's  majestic  peace, 
were  thirty  burning  coals  in  the  red  flood.  The 
great  circuit  of  peaks  round  all  the  two  hundred  and 
fifty  miles  of  the  water's  circumference  lit  a  thousand 
fires.  That  porphyry  gleamed  with  every  shade  of 
color  from  dazzling  white,  to  emerald,  to  blue,  to 
purple,  to  the  red  of  red  blood.  Fleecy  clouds  glis 
tened  with  the  tints  of  shells :  vapor  banks  in  the 
west  towered  dark  with  blazing  edges.  Streamers  of 
flame  lay  stretched  over  the  zenith.  Even  the  east 
answered  with  fleeting  fires. 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  195 

The  red  ball  was  gone  and  the  fires  were  fading. 
She  put  her  hand  for  the  twentieth  time  over  her 
eyes  and  looked  away  to  the  west.  And  the  white 
mist  was  there  —  the  mist  she  knew —  far  away, 
fleecy,  beautiful ;  but  to  her  it  was  another  and  a 
heavier  grief.  She  knew  the  wind  was  coming. 

Rodrigo  saw  it  too.  Nearly  every  evening  from 
September  to  June,  while  the  dry  season  lasts,  the 
wind  comes  up  from  the  west.  It  usually  arrives  at 
sunset  or  a  little  after  or  a  little  before.  It  is  some 
times  much  later,  and  rarely  it  comes  not  at  all.  He 
had  counted  on  something  near  a  certainty.  His 
heart  bounded  when  he  saw  that  mist.  There  were 
six  boats  left  to  load  and  the  one  from  Ajicjic  was 
near  at  hand.  He  spurred  his  men  on  to  double 
efforts.  The  knowledge  of  a  quickly  coming  wind 
was  like  wine  to  them.  The  first  three  of  the  six 
canoas  were  brought  up.  The  white  mist  was  a  little 
larger  and  a  little  whiter.  There  came,  out  of  the 
midst  of  the  sunset's  beauties,  a  little  breeze.  It 
struck  the  cheek  with  a  sudden  coolness.  And  as 
suddenly  as  a  pebble  might  have  stirred  it  the  water 
crinkled  like  crepe.  The  breeze  continued  dallying, 
wonderfully  light.  The  mist  came  a  little  closer  and 
then  suddenly  dispersed.  Then  the  wind  was  there, 
blowing  black  hair  about  sweating  faces,  cotton  skirts 
about  the  limbs  of  women,  dust  from  the  road.  The 
crinkled  water  rose  of  a  sudden  in  small  waves,  and 
the  vessels  were  lifted  a  little  and  sank. 

The  one  from  Ajicjic  arrived  and  the  loading  of 
the  last  three  was  entered  upon.  The  waves  from 
this  time  increased  gradually  and  not  slowly.  This 
last  loading  was  very  difficult.  The  planks  rose  and 
sank  irregularly,  the  vessels  heaved,  the  horses  made 
trouble.  But  a  stern  determination  entered  the  men. 


1 96  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

Twenty  or  thirty  soldiers  seized  each  ship  and  liter 
ally  by  main  force  kept  it  from  demolishing  its  bridge 
or  dashing  itself  against  a  rock.  The  beasts  were 
hauled,  pushed,  carried,  half  thrown  into  the  canoas. 
With  a  final  ringing  shout  the  thing  was  done. 

The  girl  on  the  mountain  could  no  longer  sit  where 
she  had  been.  She  must  stand.  There  was  in  her 
now  a  restlessness  such  as  she  had  never  known. 
The  wind  was  there ;  a  little  more  and  it  would  take 
them  all  away.  She  mechanically  counted  the  vessels 
loaded.  Not  all  had  been  necessary  for  the  horses. 
The  rest  were  for  the  men.  By  systematic  and  dar 
ing  packing  Rodrigo  had  made  those  clumsy  barks 
average  a  capacity  of  ten  animals  each.  He  had 
thus  used  twenty-three  canoas  for  the  horses.  Each 
of  these  carried  three  soldiers  besides,  in  many  cases, 
the  owner  or  owner's  agent.  This  left  one  hun 
dred  and  sixty-one  men,  including  Rodrigo  and  his 
prisoner,  for  the  remaining  seven  vessels,  in  itself  a 
somewhat  reckless  proportion.  Yet  these  seven  were 
thus  less  burdened  than  were  those  that  carried  the 
horses.  Clarita  saw  the  seven  brought,  rolling  some 
what,  near  the  beach  or  the  cliff,  and  the  men  rushing 
for  them.  She  saw,  too,  Rodrigo  in  the  last  light  of 
the  day,  standing  on  the  rocks  directing  them. 

She  had  known  him  long.  This  misguided  man, 
thought  she,  has  been  my  friend.  He  is  my  enemy 
now,  but  he  has  a  kind  nature.  She  stood  a  moment 
more,  wretched,  her  heart  throbbing.  The  peaks 
were  the  same  —  the  unknown  morrow.  Could  she 
stay  and  see  it,  remembering  Vicente's  wishes,  her 
promise,  the  danger?  To  her  the  question  was  not 
would  she  stay  —  rather  could  she?  Was  it  possible 
to  crush  her  heart  like  that?  The  waves  were  rising, 
the  men  were  climbing  in.  She  saw  it  again,  the 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  197 

vision  of  them  going,  the  lessening  sails,  the  disap 
pearance,  and  the  blank  blackness  left  to  her.  She 
prayed  then  a  little  to  the  Virgin  Mary,  caught  her 
skirts,  and  went  as  fast  as  boulders  would  let  her 
down  the  mountain.  She  came  running  breathless 
to  a  boat  at  the  rock.  The  men  were  all  in  save 
those  who  held  it  from  beating  on  the  little  preci 
pice,  and  thejefe  himself.  He  was  preparing  to  enter 
this  one  that  rose  and  fell  on  the  waves.  The  spray 
dashed  over  her  dress.  They  had  put  the  long  planks 
to  the  stern.  The  bridge  was  fearfully  unsteady.  She 
passed  Rodrigo  like  a  quick  flying  shadow,  ran  across 
the  heaving  timbers  and  was  within. 

Rodrigo  was  astounded.  He  ran  in  after  her,  call 
ing  her.  She  would  not  reply — because  she  could 
not,  and  dared  not  even  turn.  She  went  on  the 
boat's  bottom  away  to  the  bow,  as  though  she  felt  he 
was  pursuing  her.  He  came,  too,  calling  to  her 
gently.  She  was  shaking,  then,  from  head  to  foot 
and  went  down  on  her  knees  in  the  bow  and  sobbed. 
The  last  of  the  soldiers  speedily  embarked.  There 
were  more  than  twenty  men  on  board.  Rodrigo 
strode  ahead  of  them  and  came  to  her.  Whereat  she 
turned  suddenly  with  her  face  up  to  him. 

"  Will  you,  then,"  she  cried,  "  kill  me,  too?  " 

That  cut  him  to  the  quick.  He  was  a  man  meek  be 
fore  her  from  then  on.  It  had  never  come  to  him  thus, 
that  he,  Don  Rodrigo,  was  cruel  to  this  pure  woman. 

"What  is  it  you  wish,  Clarita,  little  one?"  said  he 
tenderly.  "  There  is  great  danger  here." 

"  But  then,  you  will  let  me  go  !  I  know  you  will 
let  me  !  "  said  she. 

"  What  shall  I  do  ?  "  cried  he  helplessly. 

Then  she  caught  his  hand  and  pleaded  with  an  earn 
estness  that  would  have  moved  a  stone. 


198  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

"  You  are  my  brother's  enemy,"  she  said  at  last. 
11  You  are  going  to  kill  him  —  and  this  is  why  I  can 
not  bear  to  stay.  You  were  always  kind  —  you  are 
kind  enough  to  be  good  to  me.  This  would  kill  me, 
not  to  go." 

Don  Rodrigo  had  never  been  moved  thus  before. 
There  came  suddenly  to  him  an  unreasoning  desire 
that  she  should  indeed  go.  At  all  events  she  would 
not  return.  Hence,  somewhat  bewildered,  he  ordered 
the  sail  hoisted  and  the  journey  begun  —  and  he  let 
her  stay. 

The  ship  was  first  poled  some  distance  out,  as  were 
the  rest.  They  were  scattered,  then,  as  widely  as 
could  be.  Sail  after  sail  went  up,  spread  its  great 
square  extent  to  the  wind,  bulged  round  with  it;  and 
the  journey  was  begun.  The  wind  came  from  the 
west.  Tizapan  lay  southeast.  The  course  was  easy. 
A  good  speed  will  bring  these  craft  to  Tizapan  before 
dawn.  The  perilous  plan  was  in  full  operation.  Rod 
rigo  heaved  a  heavy  sigh.  He  left  the  girl  and  sat 
high  up  in  the  bow  and  looked  away  to  Tizapan. 

"  The  loads  of  men,"  said  he  dreamily  to  himself, 
hearing  her  as  she  came  and  leaned  over  the  boat's 
side  behind  him,  "  the  loads  of  men  are  somewhat 
safe.  But  if  there  should  come  a  storm,  heaven  have 
mercy  on  the  loads  of  horses !  " 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  town  of  Tizapan  lies  at  a  short  distance 
from  the  lake.  The  shore  in  that  region  is  no 
such  distinctly  marked  line  of  beach  and  rock  as  it 
is  at  Chapala.  It  is  not  even  always  easy  to  tell 
where  the  shore  is.  Between  water  and  land  there 
is  a  stretch  of  marsh  for  several  hundred  yards, 
watery,  pierced  by  the  spears  of  a  million  reeds  that 
rise  thick  and  green  to  a  height  of  some  feet.  Here 
flock  ducks  in  great  numbers.  The  marsh  is  flat, 
bewildering,  and  dreary.  Through  its  middle  a 
stream,  called  the  Tizapan  River,  cuts  out  more 
than  one  course,  having  formed  a  delta.  The  main 
course  of  this  river,  not  over  twenty  yards  at  its 
widest  part,  usually  much  narrower,  is  navigable  for 
canoas  for  half  a  mile  to  a  point  where  the  land  is 
dry  and  from  which  the  town  lies  yet  another  mile 
distant.  The  stream  being  crooked  and  the  curves 
sharp,  the  progress  from  the  open  lake  to  the  inner 
landing  is  usually  made  by  poles.  The  lake  ap 
proach  to  the  town  could  be  easily  blocked  by 
blocking  the  river.  Only  the  one  course  is  navi 
gable.  Nobody  could  cross  the  marshes.  This  fact 
was  recognized  more  than  a  century  ago. 

The  town  itself  is  like  the  greater  part  of  Mexican 
towns,  narrow  and  crooked  streets  with  the  low 
houses  (joined  together)  shutting  those  streets  in 
and  making  them  seem  even  narrower,  and  the  cen 
tral  plaza  of  considerable  size  left  vacant.  That  plaza 


200  ./    DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

is  to-day  filled  with  flowers  and  fruit  and  contains  a 
band-stand.  In  former  times  it  was  bare.  The 
mountains  rise  only  a  little  way  behind  the  town, 
jagged  and  huge.  Before  them  is  a  stretch  of  rolling 
green  fields.  The  river,  coming  from  the  peaks, 
dashes  down  through  this  pastoral  scene  with  a 
vivacity  that  has  laid  bare  a  rough  and  rocky  bed 
whereon  the  water  boils  till  it  passes  through  the 
town.  At  the  time  when  the  two  small  armies  were 
approaching  Tizapan,  much  of  the  summer  green 
was  still  on  field  and  mountain.  The  unclouded  sun 
poured  his  light  over  an  emerald  gem  of  the  lake's 
border. 

Nearly  a  week  of  peace  and  triumph,  and  no  sight 
of  the  enemy,  had  begun  to  give  to  Vicente  some 
thing  more  of  a  feeling  of  freedom.  With  constant 
outlook  on  all  the  roads  before  and  behind  him,  and 
across  the  lake,  he  believed  he  should  have  ample 
notification  of  the  approach  of  an  enemy.  For  this 
reason  he  consented  to  the  departure  of  Quiroz  from 
Jiquilpan.  The  latter  desired  that  he  himself  and 
such  companions  as  he  should  choose  should  con 
stitute  the  advance  party  to  be  sent  forward  to  Tiza 
pan.  Such  a  party,  which  should  communicate  with 
the  clergy  concerning  quarters  and  food  for  the 
troops,  was  desirable  to  open  the  way.  Wherever 
possible,  messengers  had  thus  ridden  ahead. 

Tizapan,  being  Doroteo's  native  place,  was  natur 
ally  intimately  known  to  him.  It  was  the  largest 
town  on  the  southern  half  of  the  circuit.  It  was  a 
centre  of  the  priesthood.  It  had  been  the  intention 
from  the  first  to  make  of  it  a  temporary  source  of 
supplies.  It  held  in  secret  large  stores  of  weapons 
and  ammunition.  Add  to  these  considerations  the 
fact  that  it  was  intended,  should  it  be  found  the 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  201 

enemy  was  approaching,  to  fortify  this  town  and 
make  it  the  scene  of  the  next  struggle  (for  it  could 
be  rendered  almost  impregnable)  and  it  will  be 
readily  seen  that  he  who  should  now  advance  to  that 
spot  must  be  one  capable  of  acting  with  intelligence 
and  authority.  Quiroz  was  that  man. 

When  he  was  sent,  with  assistants,  Pepa  Aranja, 
headstrong  as  always,  appeared  suddenly,  ready 
mounted  also,  and  galloped  out  of  Jiquilpan  after 
him. 

It  was  thus  that  on  a  brilliant  morning  a  party  of 
four  left  the  last  considerable  town  east  of  Tizapan 
and  rode  at  a  good  gait  between  peak  and  water 
toward  the  latter  place.  They  were  Fortino  and 
Anastasio,  Quiroz  and  the  girl.  The  two  former 
rode  in  unsociable  silence,  and,  spurring  up  irregu 
larly,  found  themselves  at  length  some  distance  in 
advance  of  their  companions.  Pepa  was  on  this  day 
dressed  in  dark  blue.  She  never  lost  sight  of  the 
value  of  the  appearance  of  her  clothes.  She  carried 
behind  her  saddle  a  pack  wherein  was  bound  up 
such  wardrobe  as  she  considered  most  effective. 
Her  dark  blue  skirt  was  not  a  long  riding  skirt.  It 
was  a  dress  of  ordinary  length.  She  wore  high  leather 
boots  under  it,  and  the  toes  of  these,  small,  were 
visible  at  the  stirrup  and  the  saddle's  side.  Her  hair, 
that  shining  black  hair,  was  braided  in  a  thick  braid 
down  her  back.  It  was  remarkably  long.  Her  head 
was  covered  by  a  small,  light,  man's  sombrero  of 
straw  tied  about  by  a  dark  blue  ribbon.  The  effect 
of  this  odd  and  unconventional  costume  was  to  in 
crease  her  beauty  by  changing  its  details. 

"  Never  the  same,"  said  the  gleaming-eyed  Doroteo 
riding  at  her  side.  "  By  my  soul,  you  are  a  thousand 
women,  and  strange  ones." 


202  A    DKKAM   OF  A    THROM, 

She  had  tossed  the  night  away,  restless,  on  a  hard 
bed  in  the  house  of  a  friend  of  Quiroz  in  Jiquilpan. 
She  had  not  so  much  as  closed  her  eyes.  They 
seemed,  therefore,  larger  than  usual,  inclined  to 
hollowness,  looking  out  at  him  with  the  fire  of  her 
deep  struggle  in  them.  Her  face,  too,  grown  a  little 
thinner,  had  that  strained,  tense  expression  of  the 
nervous  and  the  extremely  alert.  It  was,  in  the 
light  of  this  day,  a  face  that  would  have  held 
the  attention  of  the  dullest  boor. 

"The  senorita  has  not  slept,"  said  Quiroz,  wrap 
ping  the  reins  about  his  slender  fingers  and  his 
slender  fingers  about  the  reins.  "  What  is  it  that 
sits  so  heavy  on  the  heart,  the  light,  light  heart?  " 

"  It  is  that  the  world  is  wrong,"  said  she.  "  As  for 
sleep —  I  cannot  think  when  I  am  asleep." 

"  Hence  you  toss  the  night  long  and  rise  looking 
as  though  your  soul,  half  tiger's,  half  woman's  soul, 
were  just  behind  your  eyes.  Ha  !  a  good  thing,  no 
doubt.  The  rose  buds  and  the  rose  blows,  and  even 
that,  alas,  is  not  the  end  of  the  rose !  " 

He  said  this  meditatively,  looking  away  at  the 
dancing  waters,  that  cold  look  never  absent  from  his 
eyes.  There  were,  too,  on  his  firm  chin  and  shut 
jaws  and  about  the  cheeks  and  temples,  marks  of 
the  wild  life  he  had  led.  There  was  a  kind  of  a  long- 
strained  repose  in  him,  even  in  movement,  that  was 
like  the  silence  of  a  steel  blade. 

"  Doroteo,"  said  she,  turning  her  own  solemn  eyes 
on  him,  "you  can  read  me  somewhat.  I  am  restless 
these  days,  that  is  plain  to  you.  I  do  not  know — 
I  grow  lonely  also."  She  made  an  impatient  move 
ment  of  the  head.  "  The  world  did  wrong  by  me, 
putting  me  in  a  woman's  body.  No,  I  do  not  sleep 
—  I  grow  unhappy." 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  203 

She  permitted  her  eyes  to  remain  on  his  face  even 
long  after  he  had  turned  again  to  her. 

"  It  springs  up,"  said  he,  smiling  a  flickering  smile, 
"  out  of  rocky  ground.  It  flourishes  and  sways  in 
the  suns  of  many  weeks,  and  blooms.  Well,  drop 
the  figure.  The  woman  is  suddenly  there.  She 
flaunts  red,  red  colors  like  the  rose,  and  runs  riot 
with  life.  And  she  droops  and  the  red  fades.  Alas ! 
—  even  in  the  desert  the  canker  came."  He  fastened 
his  eyes  full  on  her.  "  Pepa,  there  are  other  spots 
than  the  desert.  Is  there,  then,  nowhere,  no  way,  a 
satisfaction  for  the  life  of  the  rose?  " 

That  old  burning  in  her  temples  was  visible  again. 
She  looked  dissatisfied. 

"  I  have  looked,"  said  she,  giving  him  always  her 
full  gaze,  "  and  I  have  not  seen  it." 

That  steeliness  of  Quiroz  somewhat  lessened, 
warmed.  He  let  his  horse  come  nearer  to  hers. 

"  Quiroz  is  a  gambler,"  said  he,  with  a  quietness  in 
which  a  cynical  tone  was  barely  heard.  "  He  is  a 
rake.  I  am  not  that  man  that  my  mother  and  the 
other  good  women  would  have  had  me.  This  is  be 
cause  I  was  born  a  little  too  wild.  I  know  the  surface  of 
the  earth,  having  wandered  over  it ;  and  the  bodies  of 
men,  having  wounded  some  of  them.  I  am  hard,  full 
of  a  cold  blood  that  they  would  say  came  out  of  hell, 
only  that  they  have  the  idea  hell  is  hot.  Therefore  I  can 
not  understand  anything  that  anybody  feels.  A  rake 
never  feels.  A  gambler  never  knows  the  value  of  a 
blush,  the  truth  of  shame,  the  canker  of  disappointment. 
No,  I  am  outside  the  pale.  Do  not  fancy  I  cannot 
see  the  difference  between  myself  and  honest  folk." 

"  Ah,  Doroteo,"  she  said,  with  a  little  impulsive 
movement  of  the  hand,  "  not  every  one,  not  every  one 
thinks  of  you  so." 


204  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

He  was  singularly  stimulated  by  her  tone.  He 
would  not  take  his  eyes  from  her.  Her  face  seemed 
to  him  luminous. 

"  If  there  were  one  that  did  not,"  said  he,  with  an 
intensity  half  sad,  half  fierce,  "  one  only.  A  gambler 
takes  his  luck;  he  smiles,  however  the  play  goes. 
But  he  is  not  altogether  incapable  of  a  longing.  I 
am  no  fit  companion  for  women ;  but  I  was  born 
with  the  ability  to  distinguish  them.  I  should  like  to 
say  that  to  the  world  and  let  the  world  once  know 
that  an  adventurer  may  possess  a  virtue  that  is  all 
too  rare  among  the  sleek." 

What  was  she  thinking?  Why  did  her  face  grow 
bright  with  a  kind  of  solemn  brightness,  and  the 
color  come  to  her  cheeks?  She  looked  away,  over 
the  lake.  The  small  waves  danced  and  glittered. 
The  blue  peaks  opposite  looked  mistily  dreamy. 
Somewhere  beyond  them,  she  guessed,  Don  Rodrigo 
was  coming.  She  brought  her  eyes  back  and  smiled 
on  Quiroz  her  brilliant  smile,  but  it  was  tenderer  now, 
with  something  in  it  suggestive  of  sorrow. 

"  Doroteo,"  said  she,  "  not  every  one  is  bound  up 
in  the  set  beliefs.  There  are  some,  may  be,  bound 
to  nothing,  wilder  than  the  adventurer.  I,  at  least, 
know  there  is  a  heart  in  you." 

He  seized  her  hand ;  which  she  drew  away,  but 
gently,  still  smiling  at  him. 

"  Oh!  "  she  cried,  "you  are  brave  —  you  are  wild 
as  I  am  wild  !  You  dare  the  world  !  " 

"  Listen,"  said  he,  half  whispering  it  and  gleaming  on 
her.  "  You  too  have  doubted  the  outcome  of  all  this." 

She  did  not  reply.  Whether  or  not  she  encourage! 
him  he  could  not  know,  but  with  the  gambler's 
instinct,  and  still  carrying  the  winelike  effect  of  her 
words,  he  risked  it. 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  205 

"Vicente  is  no  common  man,"  said  he.  "None 
can  appreciate  him  more  justly  than  can  I.  But  — 
there  is  needed  something  else  than  battles.  There 
is  needed  a  constructive  ability.  Then,  too,  the 
battles  themselves  will  grow  more  fierce,  and  soon. 
Pepita,  I  am  afraid  —  and  I  say  it  with  sincerity  — 
that  the  cause  needs  more  daring,  more  strength  than 
his." 

Still  she  made  no  reply.  She  looked  like  one  in 
fever.  She  kept  her  eyes  on  him  and  they  led  him 
more  surely  than  could  have  any  words  from  her. 

"Pepa,"  he  said,  "you  too  have  the  player's 
instincts.  Where  the  stake  is  highest  and  action 
fiercest,  I  see  you  there  always.  Whose  is  the 
dominant  force  in  this  march?  Yours.  Whose  is  the 
spirit  that  has  entered  the  army?  Yours.  Let  me 
say  nothing  of  myself.  Let  me  shift  to  the  other 
view  of  me  and  say  only  this  " —  he  grew  fervent, 
passionate  —  "  say  the  thing  I  have  longed  and  burnt 
to  say.  Pepa  Aranja,  I  would  follow  you  and  you 
only  into  the  bottom  of  Hell.  I  would  perjure  my 
soul  for  you.  I  could  curse  Heaven,  such  is  my 
madness.  Give  me  one  word  —  no  —  your  heart, 
your  heart  I  must  and  will  have.  Pepa  — " 

They  were  riding  between  boulders  and  the  lake 
over  a  sandy  path.  A  turn  round  a  foothill  to  the 
front  had  taken  their  companions  from  sight.  He 
seized  her  hand  again  as  it  lay  on  the  saddle's  horn. 
He  deftly  stopped  both  horses  side  by  side.  He 
would  not  let  her  tear  her  fingers  away.  The  pierc 
ing  light  of  his  eyes  had  never  before  held  such 
intensity. 

Her  struggle  to  loose  herself  was  not  real.  She 
ceased  struggling,  sat  up  straighter  and  taller,  and 
smiled  at  him  again. 


206  A   DREAM   OF  A    THRONP: 

"What?"  said  she,  with  something  like   mocking 
girlishness  that  did   not   cover  a  certain  solemnity ; 
"  I  am  not  fit  to  love,  I  am  fit  only  to  run   wild  — 
like  an  animal." 

She  turned  her  head  away,  blushing,  and  seemed 
to  try  to  withdraw  her  hand.  But  he  held  it. 

"  Then  let  me  run  wild  with  you !  "  he  cried. 
"  And  in  that  wildness  we  will  accomplish,  with  the 
love  of  armies,  things  that  others,  without  us,  must 
fail  to  accomplish !  Pepa,  do  you  understand  me  ? 
What  is  birth?  What  is  blood?  Nothing!  Power  is 
the  law." 

She  looked  slowly  behind  and  before  her,  then  again 
across  the  lake.  She  was  for  a  moment  unreadable, 
in  which  moment,  too,  she  looked  worn  and  thin. 
Then  the  blushes  came  back  and  the  smiles,  and  she 
turned  to  him.  He  saw  a  thing,  when  she  turned, 
that  lashed  his  passion  into  a  fury.  There  were  tears 
suddenly  shining  in  her  dark  eyes. 

"  Promise  me,"  she  said,  he  still  holding  her  hand, 
"  promise  me  that,  whatever  I  will,  that  you  will  do. 
Him  who  speaks  thus  to  me  and  loves  me,  I  make 
prove  himself.  Ay  tie  mi!"  She  laughed  a  little 
rippling  laugh,  brought  the  long,  shining  braid  of 
her  hair  over  her  shoulder,  and  passed  it  lightly 
across  his  hand;  whereat  a  thrill  ran  through  him. 
"  Ay  de  mi!  This  touch  of  the  braid  is  the  magician's 
touch.  See  how  imperious  I  have  grown,  hearing 
your  love  for  me!  Is  it  thus  you  love  me?  Then 
-  promise  me  !  " 

"  On  your  woman's  soul,"  he  said,  with  something 
like  reverence,  "  I  swear  it." 

She  suddenly  tore  her  hand  from  his  and  spurred 
away,  laughing  blushingly  over  her  shoulder. 

They  came  round  the  rocky  corner  that  hid  them 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  207 

from  their  companions. .  They  perceived,  a  hundred 
yards  ahead,  the  great  Fortino  wheeling  his  horse 
close  to  that  of  Anastasio  and  beating  Anastasio 
roundly  with  a  small  stick.  There  seemed  to  be  a 
quarrel  on  hand  which  the  lank  recipient  of  the  beat 
ing  took  with  much  calm. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you  two  clowns  ?  "  cried 
Quiroz  ill-humoredly,  riding  up  with  the  girl.  "What 
kind  of  a  discord  is  this  in  the  army  !  " 

"  There  is  no  discord  whatever,"  whined  Anastasio 
as  the  beating  ceased  and  Fortino,  red  and  perspir 
ing,  went  on  in  fumes  of  wrath.  "  This  big  lime-kiln 
of  a  man  is  the  only  one  doing  anything;  and  his 
vile  deeds  are  in  full  harmony  with  his  character,  I'll 
swear  Heaven." 

"  He  cavils  at  me,"  grumbled  Fortino,  "  and  has 
no  veneration  for  the  most  sacred  feelings  of  a  man. 
I  was  swearing  that  I  would  follow  Vicente  and  his 
fortunes  faithfully  into  the  deep  sea.  I  would  prove 
constancy,  following  doggedly,  which  I  will,  too,  with 
the  faith  of  a  dog;  and  I  will  try  to  prove  this 
statement." 

"  And  I  say,"  said  Anastasio,  "  that  he  does  n't 
appear  to  know  the  nature  of  faith.  It  is  not  in  dogs 
that  you  find  faith.  I  have  seen  many  a  fine  dog 
follow  his  master  about  with  his  soul  and  his  faith 
apparently  in  his  eye,  for  a  day.  Whereas  they  were 
in  his  stomach ;  for  when  he  was  fed  he  lay  down 
and  slept  and  his  master  might,  for  all  of  him,  walk 
straight  to  the  tail  of  the  devil.  It  is  this  honest  view 
of  mine  over  which  Fortino  makes  trouble,"  continued 
Anastasio,  in  a  tone  of  discouragement. 

"  Then  you  tell  us,  old  Solomon,"  grunted  For 
tino,  "  what  faith  is ;  you  who  know." 

"  Well,"  said  Anastasio  speculatively,  removing  his 


208  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

hat  and  scratching  his  head,  "  I  should  say  faith  is  a 
sticking  to  a  thing  till  it  is  eat  up,  regardless  of  the 
wants  of  others." 

The  girl  had  seemed  not  to  listen.  She  stared 
away,  pale,  across  the  lake. 

"  In  your  ideas  of  faith,"  said  Fortino  with  con 
tempt,  "  where  does  the  advantage  to  anybody  else 
come  in?  " 

"  Faith,"  replied  the  other,  "  I  should  say  is  dis 
tinctly  a  personal  matter.  Others  may  derive  benefit 
from  the  example,  and  thus  be  enabled  to  stick  to 
the  next  thing  till  it,  too,  is  eat  up.  This,  friends,  is 
world  philosophy." 

"  I  will  yet  teach  you  another  kind,"  muttered  the 
gloomy  giant.  "  I  am  a  poor  old  tanned  leather 
hide,  I  am.  Well,  may  be  so,  may  be  so.  I  failed 
in  the  first  battle.  I  have  been  ridden  down  by 
remorse  for  it.  But  there  will  be  another  enemy  and 
other  days  and  other  examples  of  faith  that  can  go 
into  the  sea." 

He  sank  into  a  silence  from  which  he  could  not  be 
drawn  during  the  whole  of  the  day.  The  girl  was  as 
silent  as  he.  She  said  scarcely  a  word  throughout 
the  long  journey.  She  remained  pale,  overcast  with 
meditation,  seeming  unhappy.  There  was  a  little  of 
the  burning  still  about  her  temples  when  they  entered 
Tizapan. 


CHAPTER   IX 

EVENING  was  coming  down  on  the  town  when 
Doroteo  and  his  three  companions  rode  into  it. 
The  fruit  orchards  cast  long  shadows  over  the  fields 
and  the  rocky  bed  of  the  stream  was  cut,  by  adobe 
walls,  into  yellow  bars  of  light  and  darker  bars  of 
shade.  Half  way  between  the  town  and  the  water  the 
road  that  leads  round  the  lake  cuts  at  right  angles  the 
road  from  the  river  landing  to  the  plaza.  Hence  a 
party  coming  from  either  direction  along  the  lake's 
shore  would  enter  Tizapan  by  the  same  way,  the 
mile-long  road  from  the  river.  Into  this  last  Doroteo 
and  his  companions  turned  after  crossing  the  stream 
by  the  only  bridge.  Looking  to  the  right,  the  north, 
down  this  narrow  way,  the  river  landing  with  a  few 
huts  about  it  could  be  seen  some  hundreds  of  yards 
distant  at  the  beginnings  of  the  marsh.  The  huts 
were  dilapidated  and  dirty.  The  marsh  was  green 
and  flat  and  waste.  The  lake  beyond  lay  many- 
colored  in  the  sunset.  The  entire  scene  was  a  silent, 
deserted  one.  Both  to  east  and  west  the  lake-circling 
road  was  deserted  likewise.  To  the  left,  the  south, 
toward  which  point  they  turned,  the  short  river  road 
was,  for  less  than  half  a  mile,  flanked  by  high,  thick, 
irregular  stone  walls  beyond  which  lay  waste  land, 
sandy  and  brown,  cut  by  mountain  spurs.  The  four 
traversed  this  distance  between  the  walls  approach 
ing  the  town,  the  river  landing  behind  them.  When 
the  walls  ceased  it  was  to  give  place  to  adobe  houses 

14 


2 TO  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

whose  continuous  extent  abruptly  began  the  street  at 
a  point  yet  another  half-mile  from  the  central  plaza. 

"  What  kind  of  a  town,  in  the  name  of  the  saints, 
do  you  have  here?  "  said  Fortino  in  a  bass  growl  of 
wonder.  He  had  never  been  at  this  spot  before,  in 
spite  of  having  lived  many  years  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  lake.  "  I  will  swear  we  have  ridden  nigh 
the  sixth  of  a  league  in  this  tunnel  of  a  street  and 
there  has  been  never  another  street  crossing  it,  nor 
a  break  in  the  joined  walls  of  the  houses.  This  way 
might  be  a  canon  of  rocks  for  any  outlet  I  see  to  it. 
What  kind  of  a  trap  were  your  people  making  out  of 
their  town  ?  An  unbroken  shaft  from  the  lake  to  the 
centre,  is  it?  Why  arc  there  no  streets  crossing 
this  street?  " 

Doroteo  laughed  a  little  smothered  laugh  and  his 
eyes  glittered. 

"  Because,"  said  he,  "  behind  this  left-hand  wall  of 
houses  runs  the  river,  and  there  is  no  bridge  yet  for 
another  mile.  What  would  be  the  use,  friend,  of  run 
ning  a  street  across  this  one,  through  these  walls,  into 
the  rocks  of  the  river?  As  for  the  right  —  well,  who 
knows?  Why  do  we  Mexicans  do  many  odd  things? 
Why  do  we  build  our  houses  with  nine  windows  and 
then  brick  up  five  of  them  as  regularly  as  the  clock 
strikes?" 

"  As  for  that  part  of  the  town  to  the  right,"  said 
Anastasio,  "  it  is  not  worth  getting  into,  and  no 
body  gets  into  it  that  can  keep  out;  and  a  man 
once  in  has  no  occasion  for  coming  away  for  he  is  so 
drunk  with  the  stench  of  the  foul  quarter  that  he 
can  only  sit  down  and  smell  himself  into  his  grave. 
So  old  fat  cock,  what  do  you  want  with  a  street 
into  it?" 

"Does  it  continue  thus  to  the  plaza?  "said   For- 


A  DREAM   OF  A    THRONE  211 

tino,  stopping  his  horse,  looking  up  and  down,  and 
whistling  long  and  slowly. 

"  Entirely  to  the  plaza,"  said  Quiroz,  "  save  for 
one  street  which  you  shall  see  leading  into  it." 

"  How  easily  can  the  enemy  reach  the  plaza  from 
some  other  way?  " 

"  From  the  east,  whence  we  came,  he  cannot  reach 
it  at  all  with  horses,  because  of  the  river.  For  there  is 
but  one  other  bridge  besides  that  which  we  have 
used.  It  is  beyond  the  plaza ;  or  it  was.  A  flood 
came  down  in  the  middle  of  a  clear  day  last  summer 
and  washed  it  away.  It  is  not  yet  repaired.  There 
is  one  narrow  spot  between  rocks  that  can  be  crossed 
on  foot  by  a  board ;  that  is  all.  They  are  working 
on  the  bridge.  From  the  other  direction  — " 

"  Yes,  come  at  the  other  direction.  If  I  have  any 
head  for  strategy,  it  is  from  the  west  Don  Rodrigo 
will  ride." 

"  From  the  west  he  might,  if  he  did  not  mind 
winding  his  horses,  make  a  cut  out  of  the  lake  road, 
come  round  the  outskirts  of  Anastasio's  stenches,  and 
get  into  the  plaza,  from  the  west  also.  But  the  spurs 
of  the  foothills  come  down  there,  making  a  jagged 
difficulty.  There  is  no  regular  path  cut.  He  would 
lead  a  bad  chase,  and  after  it  all  have  to  enter  the 
town's  centre  by  almost  such  another  tunnel  of  a 
street  as  this,  though  at  right  angles  to  it." 

"  Si"  said  Anastasio,  "  they  have  taken  great  pains 
to  wall  away  the  smells  of  this  quarter." 

As  he  rode  on  a  heavy  chuckle  began  to  play  about 
within  Fortino  like  a  subterranean  noise  suppressed 
by  the  surface  of  the  earth.  And  as  he  proceeded 
the  chuckle  continued,  accompanied  at  every  internal 
ebullition  by  a  puffing  and  swelling  of  the  bristled 
folds  on  his  neck's  back.  He  grew  red,  too,  with 


212  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

cogitation.  They  came,  still  between  the  walls  and 
amidst  some  agitated  comment  from  the  towns 
people,  near  the  plaza  ;  and  still  he  chuckled,  at 
last  breaking  out: 

"  A  beautifully  fortified  trap  !  Oh,  let  the  enemy 
meet  me  here  !  " 

At  a  point  some  hundred  yards  from  the  open 
plaza  the  narrow  street  suddenly  turned  to  the  right 
at  right  angles  to  its  original  line,  still  keeping  its 
walls  intact  It  proceeded  in  this  new  course  for 
some  fifteen  yards  only,  when  it  abruptly  returned  to 
its  first  direction  by  making  another  right  angle  to 
left.  At  this  second  angle  was  the  only  break  in 
the  continuous  walls  of  the  shaft,  —  a  break  caused 
by  the  fact  that  those  fifteen  yards  between  the  two 
corners  were  but  a  prolongation  of  another  street 
leading  from  the  quarter  of  bad  smells.  So  that  one 
having  come  up  the  river  road,  turned  the  first  cor 
ner  to  the  right,  and  traversed  the  stretch  to  the  sec 
ond  corner,  might  then  continue,  without  a  second 
turn,  straight  on  into  the  bad-smelling  section,  or 
wheel  to  the  left  and  proceed  along  the  shaft  to  the 
plaza,  —  a  straight  course  of  between  eighty  and 
ninety  yards.  Hence  it  was  that  the  tunnel-like  way 
led  south  from  the  lake  and  the  lake  road  a  mile  to 
the  first  right  angle,  turned  abruptly  west  for  fifteen 
yards,  then  turned  again  abruptly  south  to  the  plaza. 
In  all  its  course,  save  at  the  second  turn,  so  peculiar 
is  the  construction  of  many  of  these  Mexican  towns, 
there  was  not  a  crossing  alley  or  path  or  a  break  in 
the  bounding  walls.  A  person  standing  at  any  point 
of  the  stretch  of  fifteen  yards  between  the  two  angles 
could  see  neither  the  plaza  nor  the  street  leading  to 
the  lake. 

Immediately  at  the  first  angle,  standing  indeed  on 


A   DREAM   OF  A    THRONE  213 

the  corner,  and  on  the  right  of  the  four  as  they  ad 
vanced,  was  a  large,  low  dwelling  of  considerable 
dignity  in  the  town.  It  was  roofed  with  red  tiles  and 
plastered  neatly  over  all  its  two  external  sides.  The 
plaster  was  then  colored  in  fantastic  and  brilliant 
manner  with  swirls  of  red  and  streaks  of  green,  possi 
bly  representing  some  fearful  species  of  marble  as  yet 
undiscovered  save  in  the  fruitful  imagination  of  the 
Mexican.  The  effect  is  a  common  one  here ;  in 
the  duller-hued  north  it  would  be  only  grotesque ;  in 
Mexico,  where  colors  are  born  in  a  million  variations 
from  the  very  qualities  of  the  atmosphere,  it  is  not 
altogether  displeasing. 

"  My  ancestral  walls,"  said  Doroteo  as  they  rode 
by,  waving  his  nand  at  them  with  courtesy.  "  I  was 
born  there  —  crucifixion  of  my  soul !  —  it  was  on  this 
spot  I  felt  the  growth  of  my  wings,  and  learned  vir 
tue.  There  is  a  lady  in  this  house  now — Heaven 
waste  all  its  blessing  on  her !  —  who  has  wept  over 
me  till  what  fire  I  had  was  near  being  quenched. 
Friends,  on  to  the  plaza  that  you  may  see  the  lay 
of  the  town ;  then  you  are  to  be  lodged  here." 

The  girl  scanned  the  gaudy  walls  and  the  low, 
barred  windows  without  pleasure  or  interest  They 
turned  the  house's  angle,  traversed  the  few  yards  of 
dusty  street  to  the  next  angle,  turned  that,  and  ad 
vanced  to  the  central  open  square.  It  was  now  dusk. 
Shadows  of  evening  lay  over  walls  and  bare  earth. 

There  used  to  be,  indeed  until  recently  there  still 
was,  in  the  plaza's  centre,  a  curious  relic  of  the  last 
century.  It  was  a  massive  chain  thirty  yards  in 
length,  coiled  into  a  heap  upon  the  ground.  It  had 
lain  coiled  there,  the  town's  property,  for  some  scores 
of  years.  Its  links  were  each  five  inches  in  length 
and  half  as  many  broad.  The  whole  must  have 


2i4  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

weighed  several  hundred  pounds.  Years  and  rain 
and  sun  and  rust  affected  it  not.  When  Fortino  rode 
up  and  looked  at  it  on  that  October  night  it  was  as 
mighty  and  as  strong  as  it  was  in  its  long  gone  youth. 
It  seemed  not  to  have  been  moved  for  many  years. 
It  was  a  little  sunken  in  the  soil.  It  was  brown, 
scaling,  and  covered  with  dust.  He  leaped  down, 
lifted  a  link,  and  let  it  drop,  and  the  link  clanked  with 
a  heavy  iron  voice.  The  girl  was  riding  slowly, 
thoughtfully,  round  the  empty  plaza,  followed  by 
the  town's  eyes,  but  not  seeing  them.  Doroteo  and 
Anastasio  had  halted,  and  were  looking  about  at  the 
four  rows  of  sleepy  shops  and  houses  that  shut  in  the 
square,  the  tiled  sheds  in  their  front,  the  dim  lamps 
and  candles  within,  the  openings  of  two  other  narrow 
streets  from  the  mountains. 

"  More  wonders !  "  said  the  great  Fortino  from  the 
ground,  where  he  stooped  over  the  chain.  "  Quiroz, 
what  in  God's  name  is  this?  " 

"  A  thing  with  a  fine  use,"  said  Quiroz.  "  In  vice 
regal  days  we  were  as  fine  a  fortified  town  as  ever 
Europe  held.  You  observed  the  only  approach  by 
land.  Good.  There  is  only  one  by  water,  and  that 
is  not  a  pathway  of  flowers,  brothers.  It  is  up  the 
river.  Well,"  and  he  seemed  to  gloat  over  the  idea, 
"  in  old  times  if  trouble  was  smelled,  they  stretched 
that  chain  across  the  river  at  the  marshes.  But  our 
enemy  will  come  on  land  —  if  he  comes.  Cavalry 
gallops  not  over  the  lake." 

A  meaning  grunt  was  Fortino's  response,  as  he 
lifted  the  link  again  and  listened,  swelling  and  ab 
sorbed,  to  its  voice  when  it  clanked  rustily  back  to  its 
fellows.  His  chuckle  was  gone.  He  seemed  hence 
forth  wrapped  in  a  dream,  a  dream  which,  to  judge 
from  his  features,  must  have  been  hot  and  stifling. 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  215 

Meditation  in  this  giant  was  ever  like  the  moving  of 
ponderous  machinery.  He  heaved  himself  into  his 
saddle  again,  unseeing.  He  followed  the  others 
through  the  fast  thickening  shade  over  the  course 
they  had  come.  He  seemed  unaware  of  their  pres 
ence.  The  chuckle,  very  much  buried,  began  again 
as  he  proceeded.  They  came  at  length  to  Quiroz's 
birthplace.  The  gaudy  walls  were  now  shadowed. 
There  was  no  sign  of  life.  In  the  front  nearest  the 
plaza,  facing  the  short  stretch  of  street  between  the 
two  angles,  there  was  no  door,  only  iron-barred  win 
dows.  The  door  was  round  the  corner  on  the  straight 
way  to  the  lake.  They  turned  both  angles  and  came 
to  it.  They  were  dismounting,  when  a  noise  burst 
from  Fortino. 

"  Damn  me !  "  cried  the  giant,  sweating,  "  with  a 
strength  like  mine,  damn  me  !  it  can  be  stretched 
across  a  street  as  well  as  across  a  river.  Let  my 
enemy  come !  " 

It  was  like  a  heavy  roar,  this  speech,  as  it  came 
out.  He  leaped,  infinite  mass  that  he  was  and  heavy 
as  a  falling  wall,  to  the  ground ;  and  (Doroteo  having 
knocked  with  an  iron  knocker  and  the  door  to  the 
patio  being  opened  by  a  mozo)  he  followed  the  others, 
leading  his  horse  and  fuming.  The  four  and  their 
steeds  were  within. 

The  patio,  bricked  save  for  circular,  stone-lined 
spaces  about  many  a  tree,  was  as  clean  as  much 
labor  and  good  feminine  supervision  could  make  it. 
The  house  with  its  wide,  low,  inner,  tiled  verandas, 
shut  in  but  two  sides,  the  sides  next  the  street.  The 
two  others  were  closed  by  high  adobe  walls  plastered 
white  and  brilliant.  The  brick  floors  of  the  verandas, 
were  swept  to  a  perennial  redness,  and  the  walls  at 
their  backs  were  as  marvellously  colored  as  were 


216  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

those  without.  There  reigned  everywhere  thrift, 
cleanliness,  a  thousand  evidences  of  supervision  and 
labor.  In  the  house  of  Doroteo  Quiroz  there  was  no 
Mexican  slovenliness.  Even  the  mozo  wore  clothing 
of  unimpeachable  whiteness,  and  was  glistening  of 
countenance.  He  was  fat  and  sleek,  too,  and  re 
ceived  his  master  with  chattering  joy.  He  led  the 
horses  through  a  rear  door  in  the  high  white  wall, 
to  the  stables.  The  four  crossed  the  patio  to  the 
corrector. 

At  this  there  was  a  cry  of  agitation  from  the  voice 
of  a  woman,  and  an  apparition  of  sky-blue,  loosely 
composed  and  fluttering  in  the  breeze  of  its  own 
speed,  came  running  out  of  a  door,  across  the  bricks 
of  the  corrector,  and  fell  into  the  arms  of  Quiroz. 

"  Doroteo  !  My  little  son  !  "  cried  she  breath 
less. 

She  was  fully  fifty  years  of  age.  She  had  a  keen, 
somewhat  bony,  white  face,  out  of  which  eyes  of  an 
anxious  black  brilliancy  scanned  Quiroz. 

"  This  mother  of  mine,"  said  Quiroz,  holding  her 
at  arm's  length  and  looking  her  over  with  a  kind  of 
gallantry  that  seemed  not  suitable  to  the  occasion, 
"  remains  the  same  charming  one,  let  the  years  thrash 
away  as  they  like.  Friends,  here  is  the  lady  who  had 
the  honor  of  giving  me  birth.  Mamacita,  these  are 
friends  of  mine,  precious  as  gold.  You  are  going  to 
take  them  into  your  heart." 

11  Doroteo,"  cried  she,  with  piercing  anxiety  and 
looking  thin  and  shivering  in  the  loose  folds  of  the 
sky-blue,  "you  are  come  now  at  last  to  settle  down  ! 
Your  old  mother  knows  this  is  the  last  of  your  wan 
derings.  They  tell  me  you  have  done  strange  things 
and  not  been  very  quiet ;  and  —  say,  Doroteo,  they 
try  to  make  me  believe  you  are  still  wild.  But  does  n't 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  217 

a  mother  know  her  own  son  ?  Gentlemen,  you  are 
friends  of  his  —  and  the  lady  —  who  is  the  —  Oh  !  I 
had  neglected.  Who  is  the  lady,  Doroteo?" 

"  The  Senorita  Josefa  Aranja,"  said  Quiroz  with  a 
bow.  "  She  is  a  traveller.  She  is  a  friend  of  mine. 
You  are  to  give  her  the  softest  bed." 

Pepa  came  forward  in  silence,  and  greeted  the  lady 
after  the  Mexican  fashion.  She  did  it  solemnly. 

"  Ah  —  well,"  murmured  the  Senora  Quiroz,  pon- 
deringly  interested  in  the  girl,  "  this  will  help  him  to 
settle  down.  This  is  a  good  sign.  A  girl  may  be — 
may  be  —  Come  in,  gentlemen,  and  the  senorita." 

She  led  the  way  in. 

"  A  girl  may  be  necessary  to  a  reform,"  she  added 
to  herself.  "  She  seems  a  quiet  one." 

Within,  the  bricks  of  the  floors  were  glazed  and 
polished  highly.  There  were  high  brass  candlesticks 
with  lit  candles  on  a  table  in  the  centre  of  the  first 
room.  The  table  held,  too,  some  extraordinary  orna 
ments  in  the  way  of  paper  flowers  and  artificial  fruits 
of  marvellous  coloring;  a  melon  whose  pottery  slices 
were  ever  luscious,  a  mango  of  a  red  and  yellow  such 
as  paint  and  paint  only  could  induce,  a  chirimoya 
cracked  across  its  crystal  top,  and  many  more.  There 
was  a  high  glass  cylinder  that  protected  within  it  some 
gaudy  thing,  whose  beauties  were  altogether  without 
name  or  precedent.  There  was  a  long  cane-bottomed 
and  cane-backed  sofa  against  the  wall,  in  front  of  which, 
facing  each  other  and  placed,  in  relation  to  the  sofa, 
at  non-convivial  angles,  were  two  cane  rockers  of  no 
common  pattern.  About  one  half  the  rest  of  the 
wall  other  straight-backed  chairs,  of  cane  likewise, 
stood  stern  as  soldiers.  Like  the  parlors  of  many  a 
Mexican  home  to-day,  it  was  well  kept  and  clean  and 
proper,  but  the  pointlessness  of  its  ornaments  and 


218  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

the  severity  of  its  arrangements,  left  no  possible  room 
for  a  homelike  appearance.  It  was  as  cheerless  as 
the  glazing  of  the  bricks.  Seldom  sat  any  one  on  the 
chairs;  few  visitors  came  to  use  the  sofa;  the  fruit 
and  the  flowers  and  the  unnamed  beauties  wasted  a 
perennial  sweetness  on  a  desert  air.  The  widowed 
mistress  was  more  familiar  with  the  kitchen,  where 
servants  even  now  could  be  heard  preparing  supper; 
or  with  her  own  bedroom,  where  there  was  a  crucifix 
of  large  size,  and  where  she  spent  the  hours  waiting 
for  the  time  when  Doroteo's  wild  days  should  have 
passed. 

"  Bring  us  a  light,  Maria !  "  cried  she,  bustling 
about  in  a  not-to-be-allayed  agitation ;  "  come,  light 
this  lady  to  the  room  beyond  my  own.  No,  I  will 
go  myself.  Follow  me,  senorita.  Ah  —  he  has  come 
back,"  she  continued,  leading  the  way  along  the  cor 
rector,  entering  the  room  before  the  girl.  "  He  has 
come,  and  the  bad  days  are  over.  Nobody  knows  a 
son  like  a  mother.  It  is  a  little  waywardness.  Why, 
Doroteo  was  always  a  good  boy ;  oh,  a  love  of  a  boy, 
Senorita  Josefa !  He  was  as  plump  as  the  turkeys 
till  he  grew  tall.  Come ;  "  she  set  the  girl's  candle 
on  the  small  wooden  dresser;  "  it  worries  you  too. 
I  have  never  seen  you  before,  but  I  have  intuition. 
I  judge  you  at  once.  You  are  sad.  It  worries  you 
too,  and  a  woman  longs  for  his  quieting  down,  you 
as  well  as  I.  I  will  acknowledge  I  feel  quite  a 
mother  to  you—  Ah!  what  am  I  saying!  Mary 
guard  an  old  woman's  tongue.  It  is  a  —  it  is  a  sister 
that  I  feel  to  you  ;  and  already  !  But  nobody  ever 
knew  a  boy's  nature  as  does  his  mother.  And  I,  old 
Manuela  Quiroz,  know  he  has  come  to  the  point  of 
settling  down." 

"  Yes,  Dona   Manuela."  said   Pepa,  "  doubtless  he 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  219 

will,"  and  sighed  and  turned  to  the  bed.     So  the  old 
lady  left  her  and  went  hastily  back. 

"  A  good  sort  of  girl,"  she  murmured  feverishly. 
"  If  this  could  only  come  out  so  !  Doroteo,  my  love, 

0  my  boy,  my  good  boy !     I  can  scarcely  credit  my 
eyes  in  seeing  you.     The  fruit  orchards  are  in  excel 
lent  condition,  Doroteo.    Senor  —  What  is  his  name, 
Doroteo?" 

"  The  biggest  one  is  Fortino.  That  is  name 
enough.  Can  you  take  that  vast  man  into  your 
heart,  mother?  These  are  both  lovable  fellows. 
Anastasio  is  as  fine  a  boy  to  be  cuddled  as  he  is 
long,  I  '11  swear  it  before  God's  throne ;  blasphemous 
devil  that  I  am !  " 

"  O  son  !  this  is  harsh  talk ;  must  I  return  to  a 
washing  out  of  your  mouth  with  soap ?  Ha!  ha!" 
laughing  tearfully  and  much  moved  with  the  tender 
recollection.  "  It  was  thus  I  punished  him  in  the 
old  days.  Don  Anastasio,  I  assure  you  "  (she  had 
scarcely  looked  at  Anastasio)  "  he  was  so  plump, 
he  and  his  little  legs,  when  he  was  a  boy,  that  he 
gave  every  promise  of  being  as  plump  a  man  as 
yourself." 

"  Senora,"  said  the  extremely  lank  Anastasio,  dur 
ing  a  grunt  from  Fortino,  "  the  slenderer  I  am  the 
bitterer  is  your  remark.  There  is  nothing  plump 
about  me  but  my  admiration  of  ladies." 

"  Oh,"  replied  she  absently,  "  I  thought  Anastasio 
was  the  big  one.  Come,  supper  is  called.  We  eat 
on  the  corrector.  It  is  less  lonely  for  a  widow ;  and 

1  am  then  nearer  the  door  if  he  —  if  any  one  should 
come." 

By  Doroteo's  attention  the  men  were  given  means 
of  washing  face  and  hands  in  a  pottery  bowl  by  the 
kitchen,  a  courtesy  the  agitated  Dona  Manuela  had 


220  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

neglected.  Under  the  low  tiles  of  the  wide  corrcdor, 
with  the  night-shadows  of  trees  just  beyond  and  the 
sighing  of  the  night  wind  audible  about,  the  table 
was  spread,  white,  inviting,  candle-lit. 

"  Doroteo,"  said  his  mother,  drawing  him  aside, 
"  they  are  dressed  like  the  servants.  These  friends 
of  yours  look  like  peons  to  me.  It  is — I  suppose 
whatever  you  do  is  all  right — now  I  would  believe 
you  always,  Doroteo ;  I  always  had  the  utmost  faith 
in  you.  I  never  sat  down  with  peons  in  my  life, 
Doroteo —  And  —  and  the  girl?" 

"  These  fellows  are  to  do  great  services.  Excep 
tions  are  good  things.  Do  you  forget  I  am  in  war?" 

"  Holy  Mary !  I  thought  you  were  abandoning 
the  war !  Oh  !  Doroteo,  have  you  not  come  home 
to  stay?" 

"  By  and  by,  Mamacita"  said  he,  stretching  his 
lips  across  the  teeth. 

"  Am  I,  then,"  she  faltered,  "  encouraging  the  war? 
I  do  not  believe  in  war.  And  the  girl,  is  she  —  Sh  ! 
—  tell  your  old  mother.  I  always  had  your  full  con 
fidence  ;  oh,  yes !  you  always  told  me  everything. 
Is  she  —  is  it  —  " 

She  paused,  her  white  bony  face  lit  with  her 
anxiety.  He  smiled  finely  on  her,  and  chucked 
her  with  a  great  but  elegant  gallantry,  wherein  the 
cat-like  quality  of  movement  was  not  entirely  lacking, 
under  the  chin. 

"  Who  knows  whither  blows  the  wind  !  "  said  he. 

The  girl,  being  called  by  a  servant,  came  then  out 
of  her  room,  deep-eyed,  silent.  She  still  wore  her 
hair  in  the  braid.  The  fishermen,  urged,  approached, 
and  the  five  sat  down.  Waited  on  by  a  bright-eyed 
little  Mexican  girl  and  the  sleek  moso,  they  ate  a 
supper  that  satisfied  even  Fortino.  It  chanced  that 


A   DREAM   OF  A    THRONE  221 

Quiroz  finished  before  the  others.  He  arose,  and, 
appeasing  his  questioning  mother  by  the  announce 
ment  that  he  was  off  to  the  priests  (which  holy  pur 
pose  comforted  the  lady),  did  indeed  abruptly  depart. 
The  churchmen,  he  had  assured  Anastasio  and  For- 
tino,  would  send  a  servant  who,  in  conjunction  with 
those  two  warriors,  was  to  spend  the  night  gathering 
together  provision  for  the  army. 

"  God  be  praised,"  murmured  Dona  Manuela,  when 
the  heavy  door  had  clanged  to  after  him  (she  was  eat 
ing  nothing  but  staring  at  the  girl),  "  if  he  has  come  to 
a  need  of  the  priests  !  A  man's  heart  cannot  be  always 
hard.  He  will  come  to  the  church  before  he  dies. 
Senorita,  you  too  cannot  eat.  Ah  —  I  understand  ; 
you  could  tell  it  all  to  me,  me  who  understand ! 
Women's  bosoms  beat  the  same  in  all  the  world." 

The  senorita  did  not  reply.  Having  eaten  little, 
she  too  arose  abruptly  and  went  to  her  room.  Her 
door  closed  after  her;  Dona  Manuela  and  the  fisher 
men  were  the  only  feasters  left. 

"  A  good,  quiet  girl,"  murmured  Dona  Manuela 
dreamily.  "  Sefiores,  she  seems  like  a  nice,  well- 
mannered  young  lady.  Oh,  if  it  could  be  brought 
about !  Surely  you  can  say  things  to  her  in  his 
favor  —  you  who  know  his  good  qualities.  There  is 
nothing  so  good  as  a  good  woman  to  settle  a  man 
down." 

"  Marriage,"  sighed  Anastasio,  by  way  of  saying 
something  encouraging,  "  is  a  pleasant  thing." 

"  Nobody  knows  him  as  I  do,"  she  went  on.  "These 
wanderings  are  not  to  his  inclination.  Oh,  I  know 
him.  It  is  because  he  grew  so  rapidly  —  this  made 
him  restless.  But  these  are  not  his  true  inclinations. 
He  is  cut  out  for  a  quiet  life,  is  Doroteo.  Mothers 
know.  Mothers  know." 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

11  Si"  grunted  Fortino  positively,  between  mouth- 
fuls,  "  mothers  do  know.  I  knew  a  mother  among 
the  Yaquis  that  had  her  son  hanged.  She  knew  him, 
she  did,  as  few  knew  him." 

"This  was  terrible,  Don  Fortino,"  she  replied  in 
awe.  "  But  Doroteo  was  good  from  his  birth.  He 
used  to  run  and  pick  up  the  oranges.  He  was  a 
beautiful  child.  And  when  he  ran  away  and  was  so 
long  gone,  it  was  his  restlessness ;  and  he  has  told 
me  himself  that  he  was  not  happy.  You  gentlemen 
are  kind  and  are  friends  of  his.  What  is  there  we 
three  can  do  together  to  settle  him  down?  Come," 
and  she  settled  herself  down  in  fictitious  comfort  and 
coziness,  making  of  them,  as  it  were,  a  harmonious 
group  of  three  with  a  common  purpose  and  a  com 
mon  care ;  "  come,  we  three  together  can  work  it 
out!" 

During  this  conversation  one  subject  of  it  remained 
shut  in  her  room.  At  the  corrector's  shadowed  end 
the  heavy  wooden  door  of  that  room  was  visible  with 
a  point  of  light  issuing  from  the  keyhole,  an  aper 
ture  corresponding  in  size  to  the  enormous  key  now 
in  the  possession  of  the  girl.  No  sound  issued  from 
that  room.  The  other  person  thus  discussed  was  in 
the  streets.  He  had  stood  a  moment  outside  the 
patio  s  entrance  after  the  clanging  of  the  door.  The 
night  was  very  windy,  and  gusts  swept  up  the  narrow 
canon  of  the  street. 

"  The  lake  must  be  getting  high  with  a  wind  like 
this,"  said  he  musingly. 

He  began  to  hum  that  same  old  tune  about  the  red 
which  he  had  hummed  in  another  day  long  ago,  the 
day  Pepa  had  jumped  into  the  water.  He  turned  the 
corner  and  came  into  that  little  fifteen-yard  stretch  of 
the  street  before  the  second  turn.  He  paused  there 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  223 

a  moment  at  the  window  of  the  room  he  knew  was 
hers.  As  he  did  so  he  heard  its  door  open  and  shut. 
He  knew  the  tread  of  the  person  who  entered,  came 
to  a  point  near  the  window,  and  lit  a  candle.  He  did 
not  know  the  meaning  of  the  absolute  silence  that 
reigned  thereafter — or  her  thoughts.  The  window 
was  shut.  It  was  of  solid,  wooden,  door-like  parts, 
with  no  glass.  It  was  barred  by  a  wooden  bar  within 
and  by  the  customary  bulging  iron  ones  without,  like 
a  prison.  He  went  away  toward  the  plaza  swiftly. 

"  Bah  !  "  said  he  ;  "  give  thanks  to  whatever  Cath 
olic  deity  did  it.  I  am  no  novio  that  must  stand  out 
side  a  window. 

"  *  I  won  it  straight  at  every  whirl. 
She  would  not  give  it  me  !' " 

The  streets  of  that  odd  old  town  were  nearly  de 
serted.  They  were  dark,  too.  The  place  lay  wrapped 
in  a  primitive  silence.  It  had  grown  some  and 
changed  in  many  ways  since  that  long-gone  day 
when  the  Texcocan  prince  saw  it  lying  here  under 
the  peaks  whereon  he  stood.  And,  while  a  descend 
ant,  such  as  he  may  have  held  in  his  half  barbaric 
dreams,  was  coming  to  fight,  if  need  be,  over  his  un 
known  grave,  and  hearts  beat  and  intrigues  went  on, 
and  there  were  signs  of  a  fire  of  battle  in  the  sky,  — 
doubtless  he  knew  it  not,  nor  cared  that  the  old  Tex 
cocan  power  was  dead,  died  with  him,  could  rise  up  only 
like  a  ghost  that  flits  about  and  is  gone.  Quaint 
old  Tizapan,  strangest  village  of  your  time;  where 
mediaeval  Europe  and  ancient  Mexico  came  and 
lay  down  together,  a  lion  and  a  lamb,  and  slept  in 
peace ! 

Into  the  shadows  of  the  bare  plaza  went  Quiroz. 
Some  of  the  little  shops  were  still  open,  but  he  did 


224  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

not  pause  at  them.  He  crossed  by  the  iron  coil  in 
the  centre  and  went  into  another  street  that  leads 
toward  the  mountains.  He  came  presently  to  the 
river,  dashing  down  between  high,  rocky  walls,  with 
the  backs  of  houses  shutting  it  in.  He  paused  and 
made  an  examination.  The  bridge  was  indeed  gone. 
They  had  been  working  at  its  repair ;  but,  so  slow  is 
Mexican  labor,  it  would  be  long  before  a  horseman 
could  enter  the  town  by  that  means.  A  long  timber 
gave  a  footpath  to  a  rock  in  the  centre,  and  another 
long  timber  led  to  the  opposite  side.  Doroteo  did 
not  cross.  He  sang  yet  a  little  softly,  and  came  back 
to  the  plaza.  Besides  this  street  to  the  broken  bridge 
and  the  one  from  the  river,  only  one  other  entered 
the  plaza.  It  came  in  on  the  western  side.  This 
was  the  street  he  had  said  an  enemy  from  the  west 
might  reach  by  a  tortuous  circuit.  He  turned  into 
it.  It  was  as  dark  and  shaft-like  as  the  other,  save 
that  some  streets  led  out  of  it  toward  the  southern 
peaks,  in  which  direction  lay  the  more  ancient  por 
tions  of  the  town.  He  came  to  a  church  and  went  in. 
There  were  a  few  candles  and  many  images  in  mys 
terious  shadows,  and  some  women  kneeling  on  the 
bare  floor,  wrapped  in  rebozos,  and  wailing  out 
prayers.  A  priest  was  coming  out  of  a  door  near 
the  altar.  Doroteo  went  to  him.  There  was  a  mo 
ment's  conversation,  and  the  priest  led  him  through 
another  side  door  out  of  the  church,  across  an  open 
court,  and  into  a  building  that  joined  the  sacred  edi 
fice.  The  doors  of  that  building  were  closed  after 
them.  For  some  hours  Quiroz  was  shut  in  with  the 
man  of  the  church ;  as  he  or  Vicente  had  been  in 
many  other  villages.  When  he  came  out  at  last  it 
was  after  midnight;  and  certain  later  plans  of  the 
clergy  were  clear  to  him. 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  225 

In  the  plaza,  now  dark  save  for  the  starlight  and 
one  smoky  lamp,  he  found  Fortino  and  Anastasio. 

"  These  rumors  keep  knocking  my  head,"  grumbled 
Fortino.  "  How  the  devil  can  they  tell  he  is  coming?  " 

"What?     Who?"  cried  Quiroz. 

"  Why,  they  say  the  jefe  is  coming.      Here,  boy  !  " 

A  boy  from  a  small  group  that  was  gathering  in 
the  darkness  came  up. 

"What  is  it  they  say?" 

"  They  say  Don  Rodrigo  is  coming,"  said  he,  ex 
citedly.  "  Everybody  says  so." 

"How  is  he  coming?"  inquired  Quiroz,  without 
excitement ;  "  what  do  they  say  ?  " 

"  Quien  sabe  !     They  say  he  is  coming." 

The  boy  ran  away. 

"This  is  the  run  of  them,"  broke  in  Anastasio. 
"They  say  —  they  say.  Nobody  knows.  I  brand 
these  things  as  lies." 

"  Go  back  to  the  house,  you  two,"  said  Quiroz. 
"  I  shall  join  you  at  once.  I,  too,  believe  no  such 
rumors.  But  I  shall  soon  know." 

The  two  fishermen  disappeared  down  the  street 
toward  Quiroz's  home,  where  the  white  Dona  Manuela 
sat  up  waiting  for  the  return  of  her  son. 

Quiroz's  queries  were  exhaustive.  He  wandered 
into  many  parts  of  the  town.  The  rumor  was  cer 
tainly  persistent,  but  nowhere  could  he  find  founda 
tion  for  it.  He  could  not  even  discover  any  rider 
who  had  entered  the  place  since  dark,  and  who  might 
have  brought  the  news. 

"  Why,"  said  one,  "  they  say  he  is  coming  by  the 
lake." 

"  Ha !  "  laughed  Quiroz,  in  scorn.  "  He  brings 
only  infantry  if  he  does,  —  what  is  that  to  us  ?  " 

He  went  back  to  his  home,  alert,  swift.  He  was 
15 


226  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

puzzled  by  these  rumors.  He  came  to  the  patio  door 
at  one  o'clock  and  went  in. 

"You  have  seen  the  priest,  Doroteo,  my  son?" 
said  Dona  Manucla,  coming  out  with  a  candle,  still 
dressed  in  the  light  blue  dress  and  looking  wan. 

"  A  jolly  good  old  dog  he  was,  too,"  said  Quiroz, 
under  his  breath,  paying  little  attention  to  her. 

"  Will  you  not  go  to  bed  now,  Doroteo,  my  son?" 
asked  she,  anxiously. 

"  Presently,  mother,  presently.  Is  the  lady  still  in 
her  room  ;  has  she  gone  to  bed?  " 

"  I  can  see  her  light  by  the  cracks,"  said  Dona 
Manuela,  with  some  eagerness.  "  Ah,  Doroteo,  she 
is  a  beautiful  creature,  and  a  good,  quiet  one." 

41  Put  me  down  for  a  hearty  second  to  that,  so  much 
so  that  I  cannot  wait.  I  go  to  pay  court,  mother,  to 
this  quiet  one,  now,  in  the  middle  of  the  night." 

"  Oh,  my  son  !  "  cried  she  in  consternation.  "  This 
is  improper !  " 

"  You  know  Doroteo  too  well  to  accuse  him  of 
impropriety,"  cried  he,  glistening  of  eye  and  smiling 
on  her.  "  Nobody  knows  a  son  as  does  his  little 
mother.  Now,  say  I.  Love  and  war  wait  for  noth 
ing." 

11  Oh,  my  son  !  "  cried  she,  plaintively,  as  though 
feeling  the  awfulness  of  it,  but  giving  in  because  he 
took  decision  away  from  her.  "  Oh,  my  son !  A 
happy  outcome  —  oh,  a  happy  outcome  !  This  is  a 
strange  world." 

Fortino  and  Anastasio  were  crouched  with  their 
blankets  in  the  middle  of  the  patio.  Quiroz  assured 
them  he  had  been  unable  to  verify  the  rumors. 
Then  he  went  to  Pepa's  door.  The  night  was  as  still 
there  in  the  corredor  by  her  room  as  it  could  have 
been  on  the  highest  peaks. 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  227 

He  knocked  lightly.  She  opened  to  him  at  once. 
He  went  in  boldly,  recklessly,  and  closed  the  door. 
The  patio  was  left  in  its  nightly  peace.  Dona  Man- 
uela,  somewhat  horrified,  stood  stooped  and  trem 
bling,  with  the  candle  in  her  hand,  staring  at  the 
door.  Fortino  and  Anastasio  at  length  stretched  out 
on  the  bricks  and  slept. 

There  was  then  a  great  struggle  in  the  bosom  of 
Dona  Manuela. 

"The  keyhole  is  so  very  large,"  said  she  plain 
tively. 

She  went  a  little  closer.  A  mother's  anxiety  drew 
her  on,  yet  held  her  back.  Five  fearful  minutes  she 
spent  with  her  will  in  the  balance. 

"  Ah,  God  forgive  me  !  "  cried  she.  "  At  least  it  is 
a  little  sin.  And  Doroteo  never  keeps  anything  from 
me.  Nay,  nay,  he  tells  me  all ;  when  he  comes 
out  he  would  tell  me  all  that  passed,  anyway.  How 
good  it  is  that  a  mother  has  thus  the  confidence  of — 
Oh  Doroteo,  Doroteo  !  could  you  keep  aught  from 
me  —  me  who  long  to  know  !  " 

She  crept  up  to  the  keyhole.  It  really  was  very 
large.  They  are  so  to-day  in  all  the  smaller  places 
of  Mexico,  and  the  keys  are  of  great  size.  The  girl 
was  seated  by  the  table  whereon  the  candle  stood. 
She  was  plainly  in  view,  with  her  face  toward  the 
door.  Her  eyes  were  large  and  black  and  her  face 
thin.  She  was  staring  at  a  part  of  the  room  the 
mother  could  not  see,  but  in  which  she  felt  her  son 
to  be.  Indeed  Doroteo's  voice  was  heard. 

"  It  is  merely,"  said  he,  "  that  they  say  he  is  coming. 
Only  rumors,  it  may  be,  but  we  are  to  be  ready. 
Pepa,  let  us  come  at  last  to  open  speech." 

The  old  lady  was  so  agitated  by  the  mystery  of 
these  words  she  could  not  hear  the  reply.  There 


228  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

was  other  conversation  within.  At  length  she  dis 
tinguished  this  from  the  girl : 

"  Doroteo  Quiroz  will  keep  to  me  his  promise 
more  surely  than  to  the  God  he  no  more  than  half 
believes."  ' 

Full  of  wretchedness  Dona  Manuela  awaited  the 
answer  to  this  slander ;  would  fain  have  defended  her 
son  from  so  blasphemous  and  unexpected  a  remark. 
She  saw  a  strange  and  dazzling  smile  on  the  nervous 
face  of  the  girl  within.  She  heard  her  son  step 
nearer  the  table.  She  still  could  not  see  him. 

"  But  is  the  promise,  then,  to  be  mine  only  ?  "  cried 
he.  "  You  give  me  smiles  —  you  give  me  no  other 
proof.  I  follow  you  like  the  lost  one  that  I  am, 
caring  for  nothing  so  that  I  be  under  your  eyes. 
You  are  a  gambler,  in  your  soul,  as  much  as  I.  How 
do  I  know  I  am  to  have,  for  my  promise  and  its  ful 
filment,  one  caress  from  the  lips  that  can  smile  so? 
I  will  have  it  —  I  will  have  it  now  !  Muerte  de  Dios  ! 
if  I  have  held  you  once  I  can  wade  through  fire. 
Come,  words  are  nothing  to  Quiroz." 

He  came  very  near  her.  She  was  suddenly  on  her 
feet.  At  first,  like  a  panther  and  looking  majesti 
cally  beautiful,  she  held  him  off  by  the  very  look. 
But  in  that  moment  she  Learned  more  of  the  man 
with  whom  she  had  to  deal  and  of  his  desperation 
than  she  had  learned  in  all  her  previous  acquaintance 
with  him.  Her  face  was  like  white  flame;  but  it 
gradually  softened.  It  was  no  less  white,  but  there 
was  a  change  in  the  light  of  the  eyes.  She  looked 
as  though  she  would  smile,  but  she  did  not.  At 
least  he  sprang  to  her.  For  one  second  she  was  in 
his  arms.  Then  she  pushed  him  away. 

"  Now  go  !  "  she  cried. 

The  scene  had  thrilled  the  older  woman  at  the  key- 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  229 

hole  with  many  emotions.  She  had  barely  time  to 
run  hysterically  away  to  the  corrector's  far  end,  the 
candle  tottering  in  her  hand,  her  face  alternately  burn 
ing  and  turning  haggard,  when  Doroteo  came  sud 
denly  out  and  closed  the  door.  He  was  the  same 
swift,  feline  Quiroz ;  but  he  was  hot  about  the  fore 
head.  He  carried  with  him  a  picture  of  the  girl 
throwing  herself  down  on  a  chair  by  the  table,  bury 
ing  her  face  in  her  arms. 

"  Oh  my  son  !  "  cried  the  shaking  Dona  Manuela, 
running  unsteadily  to  him.  "  Be  careful;  be  careful 
what  you  do.  Passion  is  a  wild  thing !  " 

Passing  her  he  patted  her  once  on  the  cheek, 
lightly,  delicately;  with  less  desire  to  keep  alive  her 
pitiable  faith  in  him  she  would  have  called  it  coldly. 

"Never  fear  —  go  to  bed,  Mamacita" 

He  went  to  Fortino  and  awoke  him.  Anastasio 
slumbered  on. 

"  Fortino,"  he  said,  speaking  with  hard  pointed- 
ness,  "  I  was  mistaken  about  the  other  bridge,  I  went 
there  to-night.  They  have  completed  it.  Vicente 
could  cross  there  and  beat  the  enemy  to  the  plaza  i! 
the  enemy  came.  I  am  going  out  now  to  hunt  the 
rumor  down.  Sleep  on ;  you  will  need  your  strength. 
If  I  find  reasons  I  shall  send  this  long  slumberer  on 
a  gallop  to  Vicente  before  dawn.  By  the  new  bridge 
an  army  can  reach  the  plaza  and  fortify  itself  and  an 
enemy  not  know  it  is  there.  Adios  !  " 

"  Give  me  a  swing,  then,"  growled  Fortino,  "  at  the 
chain.  The  scheme  begins  to  grow  on  me.  I  know 
I  shall  win  back  my  repute." 

Doroteo  was  gone  and  Fortino  sat  up  long  ponder 
ing  with  the  mien  of  a  Jove  or  a  Saturn. 

The  broken  Dona  Manuela,  full  of  doubts  and 
terrors  but  straining  her  faith  still,  poor  woman, 


230  A    DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

grasping  in  her  lonely  soul  at  every  straw,  went 
slowly  and  bent  into  the  glazed,  homeless  parlor  and 
sat  down  stiffly  on  one  of  the  straight  chairs.  She 
seemed  to  have  no  idea  of  retiring.  She  sat  there 
for  a  long  time. 

"  He  will  tell  me  all,"  she  sighed.  "  He  knows  the 
love  of  his  mother.  If  anything  goes  wrong  I  fear 
the  girl  will  be  the  cause  of  it.  Oh  yes,  he  always 
tells  me  everything,  does  Doroteo." 


CHAPTER  X 

TO  this  day  the  trip  between  Chapala  and  Tiza- 
pan  is  often  made  between  dusk  and  dawn  in 
those  same  flat-bottomed  canoas.  To  be  afloat  in  the 
lake's  middle  on  a  moonless  night  is  to  have  no  sign 
of  shore  on  any  hand.  Many  times  the  waves  out 
there  rise  to  great  heights  and  those  frail  barks  are 
tossed  about  like  chips.  Shipwrecks  and  loss  of  life 
are  far  from  unknown. 

The  same  wind  that  had  swirled  about  Quiroz  in 
Tizapan's  narrow  streets  was  filling  thirty  square  sails 
on  the  darkening  waters.  They  flew  over  the  waves 
like  so  many  night-birds,  silent.  The  west  grew  dark ; 
even  the  highest  edge  of  the  highest  cloud  put  out 
its  light.  The  strangely  freighted  vessels  spread  out 
for  a  distance  of  some  two  miles.  As  they  are  not 
the  easiest  craft  to  manage  it  was  well  not  to  let  them 
come  too  near  one  another.  Chapala's  few  lights 
gradually  disappeared ;  only  the  stars  remained. 
There  was,  at  nine  o'clock,  no  shore ;  there  were  no 
mountains;  only  each  little  ship  to  itself  plunging 
into  the  night,  a  ghostly  company  of  white  wings  on 
every  hand,  and  rising  waves  beating  against  pitched 
sides  and  flinging  spray  over  man  and  beast.  In  the 
main  the  horses  had  become  as  quiet  as  could  have 
been  hoped,  though  an  unusual  lurch  sometimes 
caused  a  scramble  of  hoofs  and  some  equine  expres 
sion  of  distress. 


232  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

"  Did  you  know  there  is  iron  on  the  prow  of  this 
thing?"  called  a  soldier  from  the  black  depths  of 
the  canoa  which  Bonavidas  commanded,  a  canoa 
loaded  with  men  only.  "  What  did  they  put  iron  on 
it  for?  This  is  the  biggest  and  the  fastest,  too.  If 
anybody  should  get  in  front  of  this  prow,  holy 
fathers !  we  would  cut  into  him !  " 

Bonavidas,  like  some  lean  prowler  of  the  night, 
moved  always  from  one  end  of  the  vessel  to  the  other, 
bending  that  bony  visage  of  his  over  the  water  and 
watching  the  other  sails.  Some  of  his  companions 
under  the  unremoved  thatch  at  length  sang  low  and 
melancholy  songs  in  that  peculiar,  restrained  falsetto 
of  the  Mexican  peon. 

The  next  boat,  some  rods  to  Bonavidas'  right,  was 
the  little  "  Delirium,"  wherein  were  three  soldiers,  a 
servant  of  Doroteo,  and  eight  horses.  Beyond  this, 
a  full  black  quarter  of  a  mile,  flew  the  sail  of  the 
jcfe.  Thejefe,  with  his  invigorated  mood  of  youth 
gone,  sat  high  on  the  prow  of  his  vessel  looking 
away  to  the  fathomless  southeast.  The  majority  of 
his  companions  had  congregated  at  the  stern  with 
the  man  at  the  rudder.  The  prisoner  was  there  too, 
crouching  in  their  midst.  Others  lay  asleep,  unseen, 
under  the  thatch. 

"  Clarita,"  said  the  jcfe,  turning  about  and  seeing 
her  indistinctly,  "  if  I  would  let  myself  think,  I  would 
come  to  believe  you  have  made  a  criminal  of  me." 

She  was  standing  again  at  the  boat's  side  on  a  coil 
of  rope  which  made  her  high  enough  that  she  could 
look  over  into  the  water.  He  could  barely  make  out 
the  outline  of  her  body ;  the  shapely  head  with  the 
rebozo  over  it  was  more  plainly  seen.  Now  and  then 
the  wind  caught  a  strand  of  her  hair  and  blew  it 
about  her  face.  She  had  spoken  no  more. 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  233 

"  I  knew  you  before  this,  Don  Rodrigo,"  she  said, 
"  and  you  were  kind.  You  believe  you  are  doing 
right — and  crime  is  not  the  word." 

"  Gentle  judge,"  said  he,  half  to  himself.  "  But  I 
am  mistaken  then  —  misguided  —  wrong." 

"  Yes,"  said  she  with  simplicity. 

He  whistled  a  little  to  himself,  softly. 

"  Heigh-ho  !  "  he  replied.  "  Let  us  not  talk  of 
this.  Let  us  talk  of  the  first  day  I  saw  you.  Why 
had  you  run  away  from  the  meson?" 

"  I  was  lonely,"  said  she.     "  I  wanted  Vicente." 

"And  you  had  not  seen  him  since  you  were  —  how 
old?" 

"  Four." 

"  This  is  a  faith,"  he  mused,  "  that  ought  to  move 
mountains.  To  carry  his  face  in  your  mind  so  long, 
and  to  go  straight  to  the  place  where  he  was.  There 
is  something  supernatural  in  a  child." 

The  boat  was  rolling  a  little  more  and  the  spray 
came  over  them. 

"  Let  me  make  you  a  bed  under  the  thatch.  You 
are  not  used  to  this,"  said  he. 

"  Not  yet,"  she  replied.  "  I  have  been  to  Tizapan 
before,  and  in  the  night." 

"  Where  will  you  go  there  ?  "  he  inquired  anxiously. 
"  I  am  sick  thinking  of  it.  You  —  you,  in  the  heart 
of  the  trouble!  " 

"  I  will  go  to  Doroteo's  house.  His  mother  is  very 
good." 

"And  Doroteo?" 

"  No.     He  is  not  good." 

"  This,  at  least,"  muttered  Rodrigo,  "  is  a  satis 
faction." 

"Why?"  asked  she. 

He  was  confused  at  this. 


234  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

"  Because  —  because  it  leaves  you  more  admiration 
for  the  rest  of  us  poor  wanderers." 

"  I  have  seen  this  prisoner,"  she  said  thoughtlessly, 
"  before." 

"  I  would  n't  listen  to  a  secret  from  her,"  said  the 
jffet  "  if  my  life  depended  on  it.  Don't  tell  me  any 
thing,  little  girl,  I  prefer  to  find  it  out  myself." 

"  Oh,  this  is  nothing.  I  merely  saw  him  on  the 
shore  when  I  was  going  to  Ocotlan." 

"  When  were  you  at  Ocotlan?  " 

"  The  night  of  the  battle.  I  was  very  glad  you 
were  whipped.  But,"  she  added  quickly,  as  though 
afraid  she  had  offended  him,  "  I  was  also  very  glad 
they  had  not  hurt  you." 

"  You  would  have  liked  them  to  take  me  prisoner." 

"  Yes,"  said  she. 

"Ah,  now  we  understand  each  other,"  he  replied. 
"  Why  did  you  go  to  Ocotlan?  " 

"  To  find  brother  Vicente.  I  tried  very  hard,  but 
I  could  not  stay." 

"  Again.  You  went  again  !  And  how  did  you 
go?" 

"  I  walked.     It  took  all  the  day  and  into  the  night." 

"  This  might  be  a  fairy  story,"  said  he  dreamily, 
"  and  you  the  good  princess.  Is  there  then  one,  one 
in  all  the  world,  that  can  keep  faith?  And  here  you 
are  a  third  time  going  to  him,  and  these  last  were 
after  many  years.  And  you  are  a  fisherman's  daughter 
from  the  lake  where  civilization  lives  not  Yet  the 
greatest  thing  in  earth  shines  from  you." 

He  could  see  that  she  turned  her  face  to  him.  If 
she  had  been  on  the  point  of  replying  she  checked 
herself.  In  a  silence  somewhat  prolonged  he  be 
lieved  her  eyes  were  still  on  him.  Then  she  sur 
prised  him  by  saying  suddenly: 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  235 

"  I  have  seen  something  not  very  happy  in  you 
many  a  time,  Don  Rodrigo." 

He  made  no  response.  The  fear  that  she  had 
been  rude  still  hung  in  her  mind,  and  she  found  her 
self  wishing  he  would  speak,  but  he  did  not.  They 
chanced  to  be  looking  toward  the  southeast. 

"  You  know  the  island  that  lies  out  there,"  she  said 
after  a  time,  in  order  that  the  silence  might  be  broken. 
"  They  say  it  is  haunted.  Did  you  not  go  there  once, 
Don  Rodrigo;  and  what  was  it  that  you  found?" 

"  I  was  but  just  now  thinking  of  it,"  said  he.  "  I 
sailed  there  from  the  other  end  of  the  lake.  That, 
too,  is  a  matter  I  would  rather  put  out  of  my  mind, 
because  of  a  thing  I  may  have  to  do.  I  would 
rather  speak  of  you,  you  who  wander  your  little 
world  over  after  Vicente  like  a  lost  soul.  You  are 
no  smaller  than  the  greatest  wanderers  nor  your 
wanderings  any  less  than  theirs.  A  hundred  thou 
sand  souls  have  been  cast  adrift  on  this  same  sea 
whereon  you  are  alone.  Oh,  pitiful  creation !  Yet 
I  think  there  was  never  another  so  pure  as  you." 

"  What  is  there  in  a  little  barbarian  like  me,"  she 
said,  "  that  keeps  you  thinking  of  me,  and  seemingly 
full  of  interest,  when  it  is  only  that  I  am  lonely  and 
go  to  find  my  brother." 

"  Heaven  record  that  simple  remark !  and  I  will 
answer  it  saying,  What  is  there  in  God  to  interest 
a  man,  when  it  was  simply  that  God  was  lonely  and 
came  to  earth  to  find  his  brother.  I  tell  you  again 
you  carry  in  you  the  greatest  thing  that  lives." 

"  You  think  too  much  of  me,"  said  she,  looking 
away  over  the  waves  toward  Tizapan. 

"If  I  saw  much  of  you  I  think  it  might  be  so  in 
deed.  I  should  need  some  angels  to  watch  over  the 
wrecked  pieces  of  my  heart,  lest  it  get  together  again 


236  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

in  spite  of  itself.  Why  do  I  think  too  much  of  you, 
and  why  do  I  keep  speaking  of  you?  It  is  because 
I  think  we  are  in  the  same  way  of  life,  if  it  be  that 
at  all ;  and  that  these  waves  we  are  cutting  through 
on  this  reckless  project  have  their  counterparts  in 
something  deeper.  I  am  going  on  to  find  something 
too ;  though  there  is  less  hope  of  my  success  than 
of  yours,  seeing  that  I  do  not  know  what  I  am  hunt 
ing.  Hence,  if  facts  in  the  scheme  of  the  universe 
make  tones  in  a  harmony,  by  such  faith  as  I  have 
we  are  listening  to  the  same  music  —  and  it  has  sad 
dened  us  both  alike." 

There  was  a  new  throbbing  in  her  gentle  bosom. 
She  was  so  pure,  so  true,  so  open  to  emotion.  She 
looked  at  his  form  again,  black  against  the  sky,  and 
at  the  silent  sails  dim  about  her;  and  the  wind  she 
had  hated  came  and  blew  gently  on  her  cheek.  She 
thought  of  Vicente,  of  all  the  past.  She  remembered 
the  pressure  of  Rodrigo's  hand  when  he  had  first  led 
her,  years  ago,  back  to  the  meson.  She  could  not 
help  it  —  her  heart  was  very  full  —  and  a  tear  came 
to  her  eye  and  rolled  in  the  darkness  down  her 
cheek. 

"  I  wish  that  you  were  not  his  enemy,"  she  said  in 
a  voice  that  made  him  silent.  "  We  would  be  friends, 
the  three  of  us." 

Who  can  blame  him  if,  for  a  moment,  he  felt  little 
and  guilty,  and  would  have  given  some  years  of 
his  life  to  fulfil  her  wish? 

Meanwhile  the  vessel  had  come  gradually  nearer 
that  of  Bonavidas,  between  which  and  Rodrigo's 
sailed  the  "  Delirium."  Rodrigo  came  down  to  the 
flat  bottom,  steadied  the  girl's  arm  with  his  hand, 
and  led  her  under  the  thatch,  for  the  ship  was  now 
rolling  greatly  and  the  waves  were  growing  too  high 


A   DREAM    OF  A    THRONE  237 

for  her  to  stay  where  she  was.  He  had  them  strike 
a  light  and  light  a  candle  under  the  thatch ;  and  the 
best  spot  was  chosen  for  her.  There  were  many  of 
those  rude  soldiers  who  were  glad  enough  to  lend 
their  blankets  for  her  bed.  With  several  of  these  he 
made  her  a  place  to  sleep  and  she  lay  down.  The 
last  thing  she  saw  before  the  light  was  put  out  was 
the  eyes  of  that  prisoner.  He  was  crouched  in  the 
stern  between  his  keepers.  His  face  looked  ashen 
in  the  faint  candle-light;  and  it  came  over  her  with 
a  thrill  that  the  dull  reflection  of  the  rays  from  his 
eyes  was  like  that  from  the  eyes  of  her  mother  that 
night  long  ago,  just  before  Fortino  had  carried  her 
away.  So  it  was  little  she  slept.  She  lay  in  silence, 
seeing  nothing,  hearing  the  wash  of  the  waves. 

In  that  second  boat  to  the  left  there  was  growing 
some  agitation.  Bonavidas  had  a  thing  to  annoy 
him. 

"  To  the  devil  with  that  little  '  Delirium ' !  "  cried 
Bonavidas.  "  What  kind  of  a  damp-headed  fool  has 
hold  of  her  rudder?  Holloa!  You  adobe  men!  Do 
you  want  to  make  corpses  of  us?  Don't  you  see  you 
are  getting  too  near?  Pull  away!  Pull  away!  The 
waves  beat  in  this  direction.  You  're  too  near,  I 
say !  " 

His  voice,  battling  with  the  wind,  went  across  the 
water  to  where  the  little  "  Delirium  "  was  pitching 
fearfully.  Another  voice,  faintly  heard,  came  back : 

"  I  can't  manage  her.  She  has  something  wrong 
with  her  rudder." 

"  You  've  got  to  manage  !  "  cried  Bonavidas.  "You 
can't  transfer  to  anything  in  this  lake  but  to  the 
bottom  of  it.  Lord  have  mercy  on  that  boat,  boys ! 
Steer  us  off  to  the  left." 

"  I  can't,"  came  his  steersman's  reply  out  of  the 


238  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

gloom.  That  official  was  growing  desperate.  "  The 
wind  has  changed  due  south  and  it 's  too  high.  If  I 
turn  a  hair's  breadth  more  we're  over;  that's  the 
end  of  it." 

"  For  God's  sake ! "  cried  Bonavidas  across  the 
water,  "  keep  away  or  we  're  into  you  !  " 

"  No.  We  're  five  rods  ahead  of  you,"  was  the 
reply. 

The  "  Delirium's  "  sail  could  indeed  be  seen  rapidly 
coming  closer.  It  was  rising  and  falling  in  frantic 
response  to  hostile  wind  and  waves.  Already  the 
vessel  was  out  of  the  track  of  the  wind.  The  great 
square  canvas  occasionally  flapped  wing-like,  then 
bellied  with  a  burst  of  force  that  made  the  canoa 
stagger.  The  danger  increased  and  the  inability  of 
management.  Bonavidas  and  his  men,  yelling  warn 
ings,  beheld  the  other  boat  head  straight  across  their 
course.  The  sail  loomed  up  like  a  ghost  before. 
Under  it  could  be  heard  confusion  of  men  and 
horses.  Bonavidas  himself  leaped  to  his  rudder  and 
there  were  others  with  him.  They  strained  every 
muscle  against  the  wooden  bar  to  wheel  round  the 
"  Delirium's "  right.  Their  sail  was  dropped  and 
the  yard  fell  with  a  crash.  It  was  too  late.  A  great 
wave  beat  them  back.  The  "Delirium"  staggered 
in  front.  She  was  close  at  hand.  Her  sail  was  over 
them  like  a  dense  white  mist  which  had  suddenly 
come  out  of  the  night  to  bury  them.  There  was  a 
moment's  suspense  and  the  crash  came.  The  iron- 
bound  prow  of  the  bigger  vessel  was  heard  grinding 
its  way  into  the  other's  side.  Her  force  was  such 
that  she  wheeled  her  smaller  antagonist  half  way 
round,  tore  a  gash  like  a  long  wound  in  her  stern, 
swept  away  her  useless  rudder  and  went  on,  leaving 
the  helpless  hull  a  wreck  behind. 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  239 

The  thing  had  come  so  suddenly  that  no  one  was 
ready  for  it.     It  was  a  quick  terror  out  of  the  midst 
of  a  good  progress.   The  "  Delirium  "  had  answered  to 
her  name.     She  had  suddenly  gone  mad.    She  was  as 
wild  in  those  few  desperate  seconds  as  her  owner,  but 
to  less  purpose.     She  floated  now  a  doomed  ship. 
The    water   rushed    in    at   her  wounds;  she  drifted, 
whirled,  and  beat  upon  the  waves.     Within  there  was 
a  mixture  of  animal  and  human  insanity.    The  shock 
had  made  the  horses  like  so  many  demons.     Packed 
as  they  were,  they  struggled  and  fought  for  life  in  the 
darkness.     They  broke   halters   and   became   a  con 
fused  mass.    There  were  four  men  in  the  vessel ;  they 
cried  in  frenzy.     One,  a  soldier,  was  knocked  among 
the  horses  and  trampled  a  score  of  times   by  iron 
hoofs.     Two  leaped  into  the  water.     The  fourth  was 
paralyzed  with  fear.     He  stood  high  up  on  the  bow 
as  silent  as  death.     The  vessel   could  hold   up  but  a 
moment  longer.     The  animals,  in  an  excess  of  their 
frantic   struggle,  burst  more  of  the  wrecked   planks 
into  fragments.     The  stern  went  down  as  suddenly  as 
rock  sinks,  and  the  prow  shot  up.     Its  one  stupefied 
occupant  clung  to   it  with   his   last  despair.     For  a 
second  it  hung  as  though  suspended.     Then  it  sank, 
carrying  him  with  it  amidst  the   scream   of  horses. 
The  damage  was  done,  and  the  "  Delirium  "  was  no 
more.     One  horse  only  could  be  seen,  by  the  strain 
ing  eyes  in  Bonavidas'  vessel,  to  come  to  the  surface. 
It  beat  about  pitifully  for  some  minutes  and  sank. 
The   man  who  was  trampled   and  he  who   clung  to 
the  bow  were  not  visible.     The  latter  was  Dcroteo's 
servant  who  came  in  charge  of  the  boat.     The  two 
others  swam   toward  Bonavidas.     They  were  skilful 
and  of  cool  heads.     They  were  at  length,  with  much 
difficulty,    rescued    by   ropes    and    drawn    into    the 


240  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

larger   vessel.     That    larger   vessel    had    come    off 
unscathed. 

"  Thanks  to  the  iron,"  muttered  Bonavidas. 
This  accident  chilled  his  crew  and  their  com 
panions.  They  had  witnessed  the  spectacle,  a  spec 
tacle  horrible  beyond  telling  thus  in  the  midst  of  the 
lake's  blackness.  Only  one  other  vessel  was  close 
enough  so  that  its  occupants  knew  of  the  misfortune. 
About  the  others  the  night  wind  whistled  and  the 
waves  beat  as  before,  and  no  sound  that  was  greater 
than  that  of  wind  and  waves,  came  from  the  wreck. 
The  other  vessel  was  Rodrigo's.  He  had  them  bring 
him  as  near  and  as  swiftly  as  possible.  He  heard 
the  news  then,  shouted  to  him  by  Bonavidas.  He 
said  nothing  at  all.  He  sat  high  up  on  the  bow 
again  and  looked  steadily  across  the  waters  into  the 
southeast. 

The  waves  were  highest  at  one  in  the  morning. 
Before  that  hour  he  lay  down  in  the  boat's  bow, 
directing  his  steersman  to  awake  him  at  the  first  sign 
of  dawn  or  at  the  dying  of  the  wind.  Ifc  had  that 
rare  faculty  of  snatching  a  few  hours'  profound  sleep 
in  the  midst  of  excitement.  After  some  time  there 
was  a  little  gray  in  the  east,  and  such  of  the  ghostly 
company  of  sails  as  had  been  hidden  by  the  night 
began  to  appear  across  the  waste  of  waters  in  the 
first  of  the  day.  Rodrigo  did  not  need  to  be 
awakened.  He  was  suddenly  up,  over  the  prow 
again,  scanning  the  lake.  Before  him  the  long  line 
of  peaks,  like  an  immeasurable  shadow,  rose  out  of 
the  south.  One  of  his  soldiers,  who  chanced  to  be 
familiar  with  the  lake,  was  called  to  him. 
"  How  long  before  we  arrive  at  Tizapan?  " 
"  I  should  say  not  before  seven  or  eight  o'clock." 
"  Then  we  have  made  poor  time,"  said  thcjffe. 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  241 

He  descended.  The  east  was  now  turning  golden, 
and  day  was  at  hand.  He  went  in  silence  under  the 
thatch  on  his  way  to  the  stern.  The  girl  lay  asleep 
with  a  peon's  common  gray  blanket  over  her.  That 
strange,  rich,  auburn  hair  of  hers,  shining  already  in 
the  early  light,  lay  flung  out  on  the  boat's  bottom. 
Her  face  was  beautiful  but  sad.  It  lacked  its  dim 
ples  and  the  pink  flush.  He  could  not  resist  the 
temptation  to  pause,  and  stood  over  her  looking  at 
the  picture  she  made  in  sleep.  The  carrying  out  of 
the  unheard-of  project  was  near  completion.  He  had 
made  the  bold,  new  stroke.  He  had  gained  much 
time,  and  hoped  to  surprise  his  enemy.  Perhaps 
this  very  day  would  see  war  and  blood  —  for  him 
victory  or  defeat  or  death.  And  this  girl  had  come 
into  the  middle  of  it,  and  every  stroke  he  made  was 
anguish  to  her.  For  a  moment  he  was  sickened. 
But  the  face  was  sufficiently  full  of  peace. 

The  northern  mountains  had  become  an  insepara 
ble,  sierra-like  line  of  distant  blue.  Chapala,  far  be 
hind  and  under  them,  was  invisible.  Tizapan,  only  a 
few  miles  away,  was  visible,  its  green  marshes,  its 
indistinguishable  mass  of  adobe  walls.  Before  seven 
o'clock  the  river's  mouth  and  the  miles  of  reeds  were 
reached.  There  was  many  an  eye  strained  toward 
the  land ;  but  the  land  was  as  free  from  the  presence 
of  an  enemy  as  it  was  when  the  old  prince  first  looked 
down  on  it.  There  was,  from  that  distance,  not  a 
living  being  to  be  seen. 

Bonavidas'  vessel  was  in  the  lead.  He  sailed 
straight  into  the  stream,  where  the  waves  were  at 
first  inconsiderable,  then  lacking.  The  river  here 
was  twenty  yards  in  width.  It  was  deep  and  of  still 
appearance,  though  flowing  swiftly.  Its  water  was 
yellow  with  clay.  It  was  flanked,  as  though  by  walls, 

16 


242  A   DJREAM   OF  A    THRONE 

with  dense  green  reeds  among  which  could  be  caught 
the  glimmering  of  the  watery  marsh.  The  river 
turned,  making  many  sharp  bends.  So  the  sail  came 
down,  and  the  poles  were  taken  up.  Rodrigo,  to  be 
on  hand  for  the  directing  of  the  others,  anchored  his 
vessel  outside  the  mouth.  One  by  one,  as  they  ar 
rived,  they  plunged  into  the  murky  flood  of  the  litde 
stream. 

A  mile  in,  Bonavidas  arrived  at  dry  land.  He 
passed  the  huts,  whose  ragged  inhabitants  were 
already  congregated  in  wonder.  It  was  seen,  too, 
that  the  fleet's  approach  had  caused  more  excitement 
in  the  town  than  had  at  first  been  visible.  The  path 
thither  was  soon  lined  with  hastening  pedestrians 
come  to  see  the  prodigy.  The  greater  part  of  the 
inhabitants  of  Tizapan,  however,  remained  at  home 
and  looked  to  the  barring  of  doors  and  windows. 

Bonavidas  arrived  at  the  last  spot  possible.  His 
boat  could  go  no  further.  There  lay  just  before  him, 
then,  one  other  canoa,  deserted,  sail-furled.  It  was 
the  only  vessel  in  the  river  not  belonging  to  tiieje/Ss 
fleet.  Bonavidas  was  now  in  the  midst  of  a  dense 
field  of  cane  that  stretched  narrowly  between  road 
and  marsh.  He  cast  out  his  cable  and  tied  his  ves 
sel  against  the  shore.  It  was  speedily  unloaded  of 
its  cargo  of  men  only.  The  second  and  the  third 
poled  round  the  last  bend,  nosed  the  first,  and  tied 
also.  Others  came.  They  were  packed  in  the  river 
as  tightly  as  the  beasts  were  packed  in  them.  Some 
of  them  in  this  narrow  portion  of  the  stream,  were 
even  too  long  to  turn  stern  to  shore ;  wherefore  the 
difficulty  of  unloading  was  trebled. 

Immediately  on  landing,  Bonavidas  and  his  men 
dashed  off  in  search  of  planks  for  gangways.  There 
was  at  that  time,  as  indeed  there  still  is,  a  place  be- 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  243 

low  the  huts  on  the  marsh's  edge  where  canoas  were 
built  and  launched.  There  were  three  in  construction 
there  when  the  soldiers  arrived.  Timbers  were  thus 
more  easily  obtained  than  they  had  been  at  Chapala. 
Enough  were  discovered  to  make  rough  gangways 
for  ten  boats  at  once.  Slowly  the  clumsy  craft  came 
on,  one  by  one.  The  river  was  a  thread  of  strange 
beads.  The  crowd,  congregating  at  the  main  landing, 
had  food  for  wonder,  looking  down  as  they  were  on 
cargo  after  cargo  of  saddled  beasts. 

The  canoas  behind  that  of  Bonavidas  were  imme 
diately  attacked  with  vim.  The  planks  were  up  and 
the  work  again  began.  The  horses  were  brought  out, 
worse  for  wear,  stupefied  or  snorting,  but  in  the  main 
still  ready  for  service.  They  became  then  so  en 
tranced  with  freedom  that  the  herding  them  was  no 
simple  matter:  as  boys  will  shout  and  leap  about 
after  an  unwonted  confinement. 

Half  of  the  vessels  were  now  either  unloaded  or 
ready  to  be.  Thejefe  still  remained  a  mile  away  at 
the  river's  mouth,  trusting  the  landing  to  his  lieuten 
ant  and  anxiously  looking  out  for  the  safety  of  every 
ship.  It  was  at  this  time  that  a  surprise  came  to 
Bonavidas.  He  was  dashing  about  at  the  edge  of 
the  thick  cane,  directing  and  planning,  when  he  heard 
a  call  from  within  the  field.  In  that  moment  he 
chanced  to  be  alone.  He  stopped,  turned,  and  peered 
in  among  the  dense  growth  of  sweet,  green  stalks.  He 
caught  a  glimpse  of  scarlet  hidden  some  yards  in. 
The  sun  blinded  him  and  he  put  his  hand  over  his 
eyes  and  looked  again.  There  were  other  hands, 
slender,  small  hands,  in  there,  holding  back  the  cane, 
and  there  was  a  girl's  face,  eager  and  drawn,  peering 
at  him.  He  went  in  and  was  hidden  from  view.  He 
came  to  her  and  recognized  her. 


244  A   DREAM  OF  A    THROVE 

Long  since  had  the  shrewd  Bonavidas  wondered 
about  this  girl.  Her  coming  to  Rodrigo's  lines  be 
fore  the  fight  at  Ocotlan  had  been  more  than  a  pass 
ing  event  to  him.  He  had  noted,  on  that  occasion, 
every  feature  of  her  face;  most  of  all  had  he  marked 
its  changing  expressions.  That  had  been  a  queer 
occurrence  to  Bonavidas.  He  had  fancied  some 
things  then.  When  ihejefe's  remnant  fled  through 
Ocotlan,  Bonavidas  alone  perceived  her  following. 
Many  a  time  he  had  thought  it  strange  that,  with  her 
start  and  her  horse,  she  had  not  made  the  chase  a 
more  successful  one  for  her  companions.  Once, 
later,  he  had  bantered  Rodrigo  in  a  sepulchral  way 
about  that  young  tigress.  Rodrigo's  manner  on  that 
occasion  was  food  for  thought.  In  the  head  of  this 
pale  lieutenant  there  had  been  and  were  many 
speculations. 

The  two  were  now  hidden  as  effectually  as  though 
shut  in  by  walls. 

"Do  you  know  me?  "  whispered  the  girl. 

"  Si,  I  know  you." 

"  If  what  I  say  seems  to  you  worth  it,  will  you  act 
without  telling  tlicjefe  it  was  I  who  came?  " 

"  If  it  is  n't  absolutely  necessary." 

"  It  shall  not  be  necessary,"  said  she  almost  an 
grily.  "  He  would  do  nothing  if  he  knew  it  came 
from  me.  This  I  shall  make  clear  to  you.  Come 
nearer." 

He  did  so,  and  she  fastened  her  great  black  eyes  on 
him  and  began  whispering.  She  caught  his  hand, 
too,  after  a  time,  and  held  it  with  a  firm  grip.  For  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  he  did  not  remove  his  gaze  from 
hers  —  because  he  could  not. 

From  his  companions,  laboring  on  the  river  bank, 
Bonavidas  had  disappeared  unnoticed  and  as  sud 


A   DREAM   OF  A    THRONE  245 

denly  as  though  he  had  gone  through  the  earth.  He 
was  inquired  for  and  called.  He  did  not  come. 

"  He  has  gone  down  the  river  looking  after  other 
canoas"  said  they. 

The  work  went  on  and  the  quarter  of  an  hour 
passed.  Twenty  vessels  had  arrived  and  eleven  were 
unloaded.  Bonavidas  suddenly  appeared  again,  com 
ing  from  the  field  of  cane.  There  was  even  an  un 
usual  pallor  on  his  extraordinary  visage.  He  seemed 
in  a  blank  dream.  He  stood  looking  dully  at  the 
horses  and  the  boats. 

"  Blood  of  the  Cross  !  "  muttered  Bonavidas  ;  "  may 
there  be  others  happier  over  it  than  she.  If  I  ever 
saw  hell  in  a  woman's  face  —  and  her  hand  was  as 
cold  as  lake  water." 

He  climbed  to  one  of  the  canoas  that  was  still 
thatched.  He  stood  on  the  roof  and  looked  across 
the  fields  to  Tizapan.  There  was  a  red  spot  going 
yonder  between  the  stone  walls  and  disappearing  into 
the  town. 

A  half  hour  later  the  last  of  the  canoas,  a  weather- 
beaten,  faint  little  thing,  came  slowly  into  the  river's 
muddy  mouth,  and  Rodrigo's  vessel,  poled,  entered  be 
hind  it.  The  thirty  were  at  length  drawn  up  and  the 
line,  as  close  as  vessels  could  be,  was  complete.  The 
last  of  the  unloading  was  carried  through  with  ex 
treme  haste. 

Rodrigo's  first  care,  when  his  vessel  was  made  fast 
a  little  below  the  huts,  was  his  prisoner.  He  had  him 
brought  to  shore  and  guarded.  His  next  was  the 
safety  of  the  girl.  She  would  land  at  once,  she 
said. 

"  And  leave  me  and  go  to  Tizapan,"  said  he,  help 
ing  her  out. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  not  looking  at  him. 


246  A    DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

"  They  say  Vicente  is  not  there." 

"  He  will  come,"  said  she,  "  and  I  shall  wait.  Or  if 
he  does  not,  I  can  go  where  he  is." 

"  You  are  sure  Doroteo's  mother  is  your  friend?  " 

"  Oh  yes." 

"  At  least  I  must  send  some  one  to  take  care  of 
you." 

"  No,  no  —  I  do  not  want  any  one.  I  know  the 
way." 

"  Then  good-by.     God  bless  you." 

There  was  a  little  of  the  pink  in  her  face.  She  did 
not  lift  her  eyes  to  him.  She  shook  hands  hastily  and 
said  "  Thank  you."  She  put  her  rebozo  (it  was  a  dark 
gray  one  this  time  and  her  dress  was  gray)  more  care 
fully  about  her  with  that  inimitably  graceful  move 
ment  of  the  Mexican  woman,  and  went  sadly  away 
alone  along  the  dusty  road.  Some  of  the  auburn 
hair,  escaping  from  the  rebozo,  glistened  like  gold  in 
the  sun.  Thus  she  too,  like  Pepa,  passed  between 
the  stone  walls  and  entered  the  town  in  the  early 
morning. 

The  unloading  was  at  last  accomplished  and  the 
canoas  abandoned,  lying  there  in  a  long,  ugly  line, 
ungainly  things.  But  the  ungainly  things  had  done 
much,  and  a  wonder  went  down  in  the  annals  of  the 
lake,  and  among  these  simple  folk  Don  Rodrigo's 
name  lives  on. 

Some  provisions  had  been  brought  from  Chapala. 
More  were  bought  at  the  huts.  A  breakfast  by  no 
means  satisfactory  was  made ;  the  troop  was  gotten 
together  and  hastily  mounted,  not  much  worse  for 
the  unusual  night.  As  for  the  horses,  of  all  the  more 
than  two  hundred  but  three  were  found  seriously  dis 
abled.  Rodrigo  made  diligent  inquiry  among  the 
people  concerning  his  enemy.  The  spectators  as  a 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  247 

whole  made  a  crowd  sufficiently  gaunt  and  tattered. 
He  learned  from  them  only  that  Vicente  was  hourly 
expected. 

Previous  to  the  departure  of  the  troop  there  was  a 
conversation  of  much  purport  between  the  jefe  and 
Bonavidas.  The  latter  drew  his  chief  aside. 

"  We  are  to  hold  the  plaza,  this  is  the  scheme?" 
said  Bonavidas. 

"  Yes.  We  have  there  an  open  space  seventy-five 
yards  square.  An  enemy  can  approach  only  in  thin 
lines." 

"  Good.  We  will  go  the  roundabout  way  to  the 
plaza.  We  will  not  take  this  street." 

"  Why?  "  said  the  jefe,  eying  Bonavidas,  whom  he 
knew  to  be  a  man  of  reason.  "  There  is  no  trail  the 
other  way.  It  is  two  miles  farther  and  over  rocks, 
and  the  enemy  is  not  here." 

"  I  don't  want  to  go  this  way,"  muttered  Bonavidas, 
with  a  half  comic  feigning  of  sulkiness. 

"  Come  at  it,  Bonavidas ;  quick.  What  do  you 
know?" 

The  lieutenant  led  the  jefe  further  away  and  whis 
pered  with  him  for  some  minutes.  Whatever  argu 
ments  he  employed,  they  were  effective.  He  knew 
how  to  use  his  tongue,  and  to  the  using  of  it  the 
peculiarities  of  his  countenance  never  failed  to  add 
force.  It  is  enough  to  say  that,  though  every  other 
point  was  elaborated  and  the  next  few  hours  mapped 
out  clearly,  he  was  shrewd  enough  to  make  no 
mention  of  Josefa  Aranja. 

When  the  little  cavalry  moved,  they  did  not  pro 
ceed  by  the  straight  way  from  river  to  plaza.  They 
turned  into  the  lake  road  to  the  right.  They  turned 
again  out  of  that  to  the  left.  They  cut  a  new  path, 
and  a  difficult  one,  at  the  foothills,  and  came  at 


248  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

length  to  the  town's  opposite  side,  where  that  other 
street,  the  only  other  one  save  that  whose  bridge 
was  broken,  led  into  the  plaza  from  the  west.  They 
had  brought  their  cowed  prisoner  with  them.  The 
tiny  Tizapan  jail  faced  the  plaza  and  was  empty. 
Rodrigo  took  immediate  possession  of  that  prison 
and,  glad  to  free  himself  for  the  time  of  all  thought 
of  his  captive,  put  him  in  it.  That  silent  person 
slunk  into  its  farthest  corner  and  was  locked  in. 


CHAPTER   XI 

IT  has  been  said  there  was  one  other  canoa  in  the 
river  when  Bonavidas  came  into  it.  It  belonged 
to  a  sharp-eyed  Indian  who  sailed  from  Mescala  for 
Tizapan  the  previous  morning.  The  morning  wind 
being  from  the  east,  he  had  drifted  toward  Chapala 
that  he  might  pick  up  the  west  wind  at  night  and 
thus  arrive  at  his  destination.  Having  been  be 
calmed  during  the  long  afternoon  within  sight  of 
Chapala's  beach,  his  keen  eyes  had  made  out  that 
loading  of  horses.  The  sight  inspired  him  with 
haste.  He  was,  when  the  wind  came,  far  in  advance 
of  Rodrigo.  His  vessel  was  a  swift  one.  He 
arrived  at  Tizapan,  with  news  burning  his  tongue's 
end,  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Running  up 
the  long  street,  the  first  man  he  met  therein  was 
Doroteo,  to  whom  he  told  the  news.  The  unheard- 
of  deed  seemed  at  first  impossible  even  to  the  reck 
less  Quiroz.  But  he  knew  the  Indian,  and,  after 
many  questions,  became  assured  of  the  truth  of  his 
report.  Then  he  suddenly  burst  out : 
"Damnation!  I  could  do  it  myself." 
He  stood  for  a  second  struck  with  wonder,  turned 
about,  broke  into  a  silent  run,  and  left  his  informant 
standing  in  the  street.  The  latter  went  on  through 
the  town,  and  such  prowlers  as  were  up  and  in 
groups  about  were  put  in  possession  of  that  which 
he  knew. 


25o  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

It  was  still  not  three  o'clock,  and  some  time 
before  the  first  of  dawn,  when  Quiroz  entered  the 
door  of  his  own  patio.  Fortino  was  again  asleep  in 
the  middle  of  it,  wrapped  in  his  blanket.  Anastasio 
had  not  wakened.  The  light  had  disappeared  from 
the  parlor.  The  mother  was  shut  in  her  bedroom 
with  her  crucifix.  Quiroz  went  to  the  girl's  door 
and  knocked  gently.  The  candle  was  still  burning 
inside.  She  opened  it  and  came  out.  He  whis 
pered  to  her  and  they  entered,  closed  the  door,  and 
sat  down  on  opposite  sides  of  the  candle,  looking  at 
each  other.  They  staid  thus  for  a  full  half  hour, 
wherein  they  talked  together  constantly,  usually  in 
whispers.  The  course  that  had  been  begun  in  the 
case  of  Pepa  Aranja,  some  years  before  when  a  new 
jefe politico  came  to  Chapala,  that  had  arrived  at  a 
precipice  on  the  night  after  the  fight  at  Ocotlan, 
came  to  its  bad  end  at  the  cliff's  bottom  during  that 
half  hour.  Toward  the  end  of  it  she  laid  a  still, 
cold  finger  on  the  hand  of  Quiroz  and  said  some 
thing  in  a  tone  rather  hard  and  unlovable.  Oddly 
enough,  that  very  tone  put  the  culminating  touch  to 
her  long  fascination  of  Quiroz.  When  he  came  out 
she  looked  haggard.  He  shut  the  door  and  left  her 
within. 

He  went  to  Anastasio  and  touched  him  on  the 
shoulder.  The  long  fisherman  sat  up  and  would 
have  spoken.  Doroteo  flashed  a  lighted  wax  match 
into  his  face  and  put  his  finger  on  the  other's  lips. 
So,  after  getting  up  slowly  and  stretching  his  limbs 
—  a  formidable  process  —  Anastasio  followed  Quiroz 
in  silence  across  the  patio.  Fortino  was  not  dis 
turbed.  The  two  went  to  the  rear  door  of  the  court, 
opposite  that  which  led  to  the  street.  This  they 
opened  and  went  through,  finding  themselves  in  a 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  251 

larger,  ruder,  unadorned  square,  about  which  were 
stalls.  The  mozo  was  asleep  in  a  stall  that  was  like 
the  others  save  that  it  was  made  for  him  instead  of 
for  a  horse.  At  Quiroz's  direction  the  mozo  was 
not  disturbed.  Anastasio's  horse,  in  a  stall  oppo 
site,  was,  at  Quiroz's  direction  also,  led  out  and 
saddled  by  Quiroz  himself  and  the  fisherman.  All 
was  performed  with  silent  speed  and  a  stealth  that 
fitted  well  Quiroz's  lithe  body. 

"  I  am  not  any  town  clock, "  complained  Anastasio. 
"  I  want  to  know  why  I  do  things." 

The  horse  being  saddled,  Doroteo  took  the  com- 
plainer  by  the  shoulder  and  gave  him  full,  pointed 
directions  in  that  confidential  tone  that  is  a  fine 
flattery.  He  told  him  of  the  fleet.  He  explained 
to  him  the  meaning  of  the  news  of  \hejefes  coming. 

"Vicente  is  to  leave  Jiquilpan  this  morning  at 
dawn  or  earlier.  You  will  meet  him  half  way. 
Rodrigo  will  arrive  here  a  full  hour  before  Vicente 
unless  you  do  miracles.  That  it  be  no  more  Anas 
tasio  will  see.  Make  it  less,  boy,  make  it  less. 
Ride  like  a  devil.  Tell  him  he  cannot  hope,  in 
spite  of  all  effort,  to  arrive  here  before  the  jefe. 
Tell  him  it  is  the  opinion  of  Quiroz  that  the  jefe 
will  draw  up  in  the  plaza  and  hold  that.  Tell  him 
to  ride  straight  up  the  river  road.  There  is  no 
other.  I  find  I  was  right  about  the  other  bridge. 
It  is  down,  and  the  one  we  crossed  is  the  only  one. 
And  this  is  the  only  approach.  The  street  is  nar 
row  and  they  will  have  us  at  a  disadvantage;  there 
fore  a  heavy  swift  charge  is  the  only  stratagem. 
Tell  him  to  gallop  straight  into  the  plaza  and  lay  to 
it.  Tell  him  that  Fortino,  the  girl,  and  Quiroz 
will  lie  in  hiding  till  he  come,  but  our  liberty  is 
worth  not  one  centavo  after  nine  o'clock.  If  I  dis- 


252  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

cover  there  is  some  other  stand  made  than  that  in 
the  plaza  I  shall  send  my  mozo  out  to  meet  him  and 
give  him  full  knowledge  of  the  ground.  If  the 
enemy  be  in  the  plaza  Fortino  and  I  shall  be  on  the 
look-out  for  Vicente.  We  shall  be  mounted  here  at 
the  patio  door.  Tell  him  we  shall  ride  out  and  join 
his  van  as  he  comes,  and  the  dash  at  them  shall  be  as 
strong  as  horses  can  make  it.  Tell  him  the  Indian 
claimed  there  are  one  thousand  horse.  This  is  a 
lie.  He  says,  too,  there  were  thirty  sails.  Tell 
Vicente  Quiroz  figures  that  only  the  Almighty 
could  put  more  than  two  hundred  horses  and  two 
hundred  men  in  thirty  canoas.  Tell  him,  then,  they 
will  have  the  advantage  of  position  but  we  can  over 
whelm  them  with  numbers,  and  that,  above  all  else 
—  and  I  charge  it  on  you,  you  long  patriot,  not  to 
omit  this  —  if  I  send  no  word  that  they  are  not 
drawn  up  in  the  plaza,"  —  and  here  it  was  as  well 
that,  for  the  darkness,  Anastasio  could  not  see  the 
infernal  gleam  of  Quiroz's  eyes  as  he  finished, 
"then  the  end  depends  on  the  momentum  of  the 
charge." 

A  feeling  of  exhilaration  came  into  the  fisherman. 
He  sighed  a  long,  preliminary  sigh.  He  swung  his 
interminable  leg  across  the  saddle  and  spurred  his 
steed.  Doroteo  went  before  him  across  the  rear 
court  to  another  door  still  farther  to  the  rear.  This 
door  was  a  full  block  away  from  the  front  street. 
It,  too,  opened  on  a  street,  —  a  narrow,  dirty  thread 
of  a  street, — which,  to  the  right,  led  into  the 
quarter  of  stenches  whereof  Anastasio  had  spoken, 
and  to  the  left  gave  entrance,  half  a  block  away, 
into  that  thoroughfare  already  mentioned  as  a  con 
tinuation  of  the  little  stretch  of  fifteen  yards  on  the 
south  side  of  Quiroz's  house,  the  fifteen  yards 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  253 

between  the  only  two  bends  in  the  way  from  river 
to  plaza. 

"  Now  ride ! "  cried  Quiroz,  smotheredly,  as  the 
horseman  made  his  exit  through  the  door. 

Anastasio  did  so.  He  turned  to  the  left  into  the 
thread  of  a  street.  He  came  to  the  continuation  of 
the  fifteen  yard  stretch,  and  turned  to  the  left  again 
into  that.  It  was  still  dark,  and  this  street  was 
empty.  He  rode  past  the  opening  of  the  last  eighty 
yard  course  to  the  plaza  on  his  right,  past  the  south 
side  of  Dona  Manuela's  unhappy  home  on  his  left 
(from  which  side  looked  forth  Pepa's  barred  window 
with  a  little  candle-light  shining  through  the 
chinks),  turned  to  the  left  a  third  time,  and  was 
in  the  straight  way  to  the  river  landing.  He  had 
thus  made  almost  a  complete  circuit  of  the  house  to 
reach  this  course.  He  went  by  the  shut  patio  door 
and  its  high  white  wall  at  a  gallop.  He  put  spurs 
into  his  animal,  and  was  out  of  the  town  and  into 
the  course  between  stone  fences.  He  came  thus  to 
the  lake-encircling  road  and  wheeled  into  it  to  the 
right.  And  some  of  the  people  at  the  cluster  of 
huts,  aroused  long  since  by  the  Indian  messenger 
with  the  news,  beheld,  at  some  time  before  dawn  on 
that  early  fall  morning,  a  shadowy,  lengthy  horse 
man  flying  away  toward  Jiquilpan. 

There  was  a  blacksmith's  shop  across  the  alley 
opposite  that  rear  door  of  the  stable  courtyard. 
Doroteo  stepped  to  that  shop  after  the  disappear 
ance  of  Anastasio,  and  tried  the  smoky  wooden  door 
that  led  into  it.  The  door  was  weak,  and,  appar 
ently,  the  place  was  not  occupied  at  night.  Doroteo 
stepped  back  into  the  stable  courtyard  of  his  own 
domains,  and  shut  and  barred  the  entrance.  He 
came  silently  to  the  rear  door  of  the  dwelling's  patio 


254  A   DREAM    OF  A    THRONE 

and  entered  that,  closing  it  likewise.  Fortino  was 
still  asleep.  The  girl's  door  was  still  closed,  and 
there  was  no  sign  of  his  mother.  The  wind  was 
fallen  much.  The  breath  of  early  morning  stirred 
the  trees  in  the  clean  court,  whose  silence  was 
unbroken. 

Quiroz  kneeled  by  the  great  man  wrapped  in  the 
blanket  on  the  bricks,  and  shook  him  violently. 
Fortino  awoke  with  a  loud  grunt. 

"Pretty  dog  you  are,"  said  Quiroz,  affably  and 
softly.  "Oh,  a  good  old  dog.  Dreaming,  as  a 
slender  young  girl  dreams,  he  was,  over  her  lover, 
while  wonders  go  on  and  the  enemy  comes." 

Fortino  rolled  heavily,  and  with  excitement,  into 
a  sitting  posture. 

"  Is  the  brute  on  hand ! "  roared  he,  with  a  roar 
that  Doroteo  smothered. 

"The  brute  is  on  hand,  and  Fortino  will  retrieve 
his  repute.  Awake  out  of  these  girlish  dreams, 
graceful  gazelle." 

"Where  is  Anastasio,"  growled  Fortino,  snorting 
like  some  awakened  bull  and  staring  about.  "And 
come  at  the  news.  If  I  fail  again  on  this  day  —  no,  if 
Heaven  is  still  alive  and  breathing  I  shall  not  fail." 

"Anastasio  has  gone.  He  is  more  wakeful,  more 
alert.  I  have  received  word  from  a  mozo  whom  I 
once  employed,  and  who  lives  in  Tuxcueco  (which, 
as  you  know,  is  on  this  same  southern  shore  to  the 
west),  that  Rodrigo  is  coming.  This  same  mozo 
came  knocking  at  the  door  not  half  an  hour  ago, 
having  ridden  nearly  all  of  the  night  from  his  home 
in  a  gallop.  Don  Rodrigo  and  something  less  than 
one  thousand  cavalry  are  on  the  road.  They  left 
Tuxcueco  after  midnight.  They  do  not  gallop. 
They  keep  their  horses  fresh.  They  will  arrive 


A   DREAM   OF  A    THRONE  255 

here  before  the  middle  of  this  sweet  morning,  do 
you  hear?  Fortino,  dreamer  that  you  are,  poet  in 
soul  who  conceives  great  deeds,  Fortino,  your  day 
of  action  is  at  hand." 

The  other  was  up,  with  his  form  swelling. 

"  Give  me  a  way  that  is  honest  and  sure  and 
proves  me  a  man  of  faith.  What  is  it?  Is  it  the 
chain  ?  Oh,  Son  of  Mary !  my  muscles  have  this 
night  dreamt  of  the  chain  ! " 

"It  is  the  chain,"  said  Quiroz,  softly,  laying  four 
slender  fingers  on  Fortino's  breast.  "And  give 
thanks  for  your  strength.  There  is  not  one  other 
giant  in  the  whole  lake  region  that  has  muscle 
enough.  Anastasio  has  this  moment  ridden  off  at  a 
gallop  toward  Jiquilpan  with  the  news  for  Vicente. 
He  will  meet  our  forces  in  the  middle  of  the  dis 
tance.  He  carries  my  map  of  the  way  and  my 
plans.  From  the  estimate  of  the  messenger  who 
tells  me  the  start  and  the  speed  of  ihejefe,  and  from 
my  own  estimates,  Vicente  can  easily  reach  Tizapan 
an  hour  before  him.  For  this  I  have  sent  Anas 
tasio,  that  he  may  come  full  speed.  The  messenger, 
too,  has  seen  the  map  of  the  town  that  Rodrigo  is 
using.  He  says  it  is  Rodrigo's  plan  not  to  attempt 
the  perilous  and  almost  impossible  way  round  the 
foothills;  for  he  has  received  no  word  of  Vicente's 
approach  and  believes  himself  at  least  a  day  ahead 
of  us.  He  knows,  too,  of  the  broken  bridge  of 
which  I  have  told  you.  But  he  does  not  know  that 
it  has  been  replaced.  He  therefore  believes  that 
our  forces  cannot  reach  the  plaza  save  by  this  same 
street  from  the  river.  He  intends,  then,  to  come 
up  this  street.  He  intends,  if  the  way  be  clear,  to 
advance  and  fortify  himself  in  the  plaza's  middle. 
But  listen  —  " 


256  A    DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

Quiroz  came  very  near,  keeping  his  fingers  on 
the  other's  breast.  The  perspiration  was  beginning 
to  come  out  on  the  giant's  face. 

"  Rodrigo  will  learn,  before  he  arrives,  that  his 
enemy  is  ahead  of  him.  My  map  to  Vicente  marks 
out  the  way  round,  east  of  the  town,  to  the  new 
bridge.  Besides,  Anastasio  and  others  of  our  forces 
know  the  circuit  perfectly.  It  is  through  orchards ; 
there  are  no  roads ;  but  it  is  easy.  Vicente  will 
never  enter  the  river  road.  He  will  turn  out  of  the 
lake  road  before  reaching  this  one.  He  will  come 
into  the  plaza  by  the  street  toward  the  southern 
mountains,  which  street  leads  over  the  new  bridge 
which  Rodrigo  believes  to  be  wanting.  Do  you 
begin,  you  slender  dreamer,  to  have  visions  of  the 
outcome?  I  figure  Rodrigo  will  arrive  something 
before  nine.  He  will  learn  at  the  river,  if  not 
sooner,  that  we  hold  the  plaza.  He  is  a  bold  and 
quick  fighter.  He  will  not  pause.  Vicente  and 
his  forces  will  be  drawn  up  in  the  central  square  in 
compact,  broad  lines.  He  will  have  every  gun 
aimed  at  the  narrow  throat  of  the  street.  The 
advantage  will  be  ours.  Rodrigo  will  sweep  up 
this  street  which  you  call  a  tunnel;  and  a  tunnel  it 
is,  and  it  shall  be  a  tunnel  leading  to  the  glory  of 
Fortino.  Mark  me;  no  enemy  can  see  round  a 
corner.  My  house's  wall  is  at  your  disposal,  and 
there  is  a  garden's  wall  opposite.  My  boy,  do  you 
follow?" 

That  buried  chuckle  that  seemed  at  times  to  boil 
within  the  fisherman's  body  began  to  be  audible. 
It  rumbled  and  shook  him.  It  grew  heavier  and 
louder,  and  his  folds  of  flesh  were  agitated  by  it. 

"Come,"  said  Quiroz,  and,  cat-like,  went  away 
to  the  street  door.  He  paused  and  went  to  the 


A    DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  257 

stables,  and  returned  with  a  strong  rope.     Then  he 
went  out. 

He  was  followed  by  Fortino,  who,  from  the  house 
to  the  plaza,  and  from  the  plaza  back  to  the  house, 
never  ceased  to  chuckle.  The  news  of  the  approach 
ing  fleet  was  now  spreading,  and  there  were  new 
groups  on  the  street  hurrying  hither  and  thither  or 
going  to  the  river.  They  were  not,  however,  so 
numerous  as  Quiroz  had  feared.  For  his  plans  the 
leading  of  this  fisherman  through  the  streets  had 
some  peril  in  it  and  he  knew  it.  He  held  Fortino's 
arm.  He  hurried  him  with  all  speed,  and  passed 
those  who  passed  him  in  fear  of  the  news  being 
spoken.  This  was  the  one  narrow  edge  whereon  his 
course  went.  Once  over  this,  and  the  giant  still 
blinded  by  his  lies,  he  believed  he  could  manage 
the  rest.  There  were  other  things  that  blinded 
Fortino,  —  his  eagerness,  his  wounded  vanity  about 
to  be  satisfied,  his  subterranean  joy.  It  is  doubtful 
that  cannon  could  have  taken  his  mind  from  his 
laborious  cogitations  as  he  went  unseeing,  unhear- 
ing,  into  the  central  square. 

The  square  was  still  dark  and  nearly  empty.  They 
came  to  the  coil  of  chain,  and  Fortino  stooped  and 
felt  it  caressingly.  He  ran  the  rope  round  its  lower 
coils.  Then  he  knelt  with  his  back  to  it,  and  put 
his  hands  behind  him,  under  the  chain.  Quiroz 
assisted.  The  rest  of  the  rope  was  passed  over 
Fortino's  head,  placed  across  his  broad  breast,  and 
knotted  again  at  the  chain,  after  the  manner  of  the 
ropes  of  cargadores  to  this  day.  The  giant  swayed  a 
little  forward.  The  mass  came  up  slowly.  Quiroz's 
hands  steadied  it,  and  the  lifter,  holding  his  breath, 
was  on  his  feet  with  the  iron  coming  up,  up.  He 
was  at  length  straight  and  the  burden  secure. 

17 


258  A    DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

"She  weighs,"  muttered  Fortino,  "some  hundred 
and  fifty  kilos." 

Even  so  great  a  weight  is  not  really  formidable  to 
a  very  strong  Mexican.  But  as  Fortino  went  pon 
derously  through  the  darkness  his  tread  on  the  earth 
was  like  the  tread  of  a  monster.  On  the  return 
there  was  less  danger  of  his  hearing  the  news, 
for  he  was  even  more  preoccupied;  yet  Quiroz, 
close  at  his  side,  scarcely  breathed  for  anxiety. 
Certain  groups  and  hastening  couples  discussed 
the  unheard-of  fleet.  Quiroz  broke  in  with  loud 
remarks  to  his  companion  and  drowned  the  voices. 
Some  came  near  enough  to  note  the  burdened 
man.  But  the  darkness  permitted  none  to  recog 
nize  the  nature  of  the  burden,  and  a  heavily  laden 
cargador,  even  so  early  in  the  morning,  was  not  a 
sight  worthy  of  much  comment  when  there  were 
other  greater  wonders  at  hand.  When  at  length 
the  two  arrived  at  the  centre  of  the  fifteen-yard 
stretch  between  the  two  angles  of  the  street,  and 
at  a  point  near  Pepa's  window,  and  some  seven 
yards  from  the  first  corner,  the  carrier  paused,  knelt 
slowly  down,  and  deposited  the  chain  on  the  ground 
close  against  the  wall  of  Quiroz's  house. 

"Nobody  will  steal  that,"  said  he,  huskily, 
mopping  his  brow.  "They  could  take  the  house 
first." 

There  were  still  little  beams  of  light  coming 
through  the  chinks  of  Pepa's  window.  The  two 
speedily  turned  the  corner  and  entered  the  patio 
door.  Quiroz  not  only  locked  it,  but  put  its  only 
key  in  his  pocket.  He  led  the  fisherman  into  the 
larger  court  of  the  stables,  across  that  and  into  the 
little  lane  into  which  Anastasio  had  ridden.  As 
he  did  so  the  first  of  the  dawn  was  in  the  sky. 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  259 

"Burst  in  that  door,"  said  he,  pointing  to  the 
smithy. 

Fortino  did  it  with  evident  pleasure.  It  was  a 
matter  of  no  difficulty  to  his  shoulder.  They  struck 
a  light  within.  Fortino  seized  anvil  and  hammers; 
Quiroz  loaded  himself  with  bars  of  iron.  Thus 
burdened  they  retired  across  the  lane  and  re-entered 
the  stable  court,  the  door  of  which  Quiroz  locked, 
pocketing  that  key  also.  In  the  court's  middle  the 
stolen  property  was  deposited.  A  portable  brasero 
and  charcoal  were  brought  from  the  kitchen.  The 
maid-servants  sleeping  in  the  next  room  were  not 
awakened  by  Doroteo's  silent  tread. 

"It  '11  be  some  trouble  heating  it  with  that,"  said 
Fortino.  "Why  couldn't  I  have  done  it  in  the 
smithy?" 

"This  is  better,  boy,"  said  Quiroz,  whispering. 
"  Secrecy  —  secrecy  is  the  word.  You  can  heat  it 
by  hard  blowing  of  the  fire.  There  are  ocote, 
matches,  and  a  soplador.  Now  —  have  you  it  clear 
in  your  head  what  you  need  ?  " 

"Clear  as  glory,  and  here  it  is." 

Fortino  then  laid  out  his  plans  to  Quiroz  with  as 
much  fervor  and  as  tingling  a  pleasure  as  ever 
would-be  poet  displayed  in  reading  his  verse  to  his 
friend.  Quiroz  approved. 

"Make  the  hook  first,"  said  he.  "That  must  be 
on  the  opposite  side  in  the  wall  of  the  garden  of  a 
good  neighbor  of  mine.  The  wall  must  be  scaled 
by  a  ladder,  which  deed  you  must  do  before  it  is 
well  day,  that  you  may  attract  less  attention.  At 
it,  oh  my  aspiring  soul !  Glory  shall  be  yours  !  " 

And  the  giant  went  to  work  with  a  force  and  a 
haste  that  made  his  flesh  only  some  degrees  less  hot 
than  his  furnace. 


260  A    DKJ-.AM    Or    A    Til  ROM: 

Before  the  lighting  of  the  fire  Ouiroz  went  across 
the  court  to  his  sleeping  mozo  and  awoke  him. 

"  Come,"  said  he. 

The  mozo  followed  him  into  the  patio,  whereupon 
Doroteo  shut  and  locked  that  door  also,  and  pocketed 
his  third  key. 

"Stay  here  in  the  corrector  a  little,"  said  Quiroz; 
"  I  shall  presently  need  you." 

So  Fortino  was  left  alone  with  his  chuckling  and 
his  labors  of  glory. 

Quiroz  was  again  with  the  girl.  It  was  a  half 
hour  after  this,  and  there  was  now  a  very  little  light 
in  the  street,  that  Pepa,  let  out  by  Quiroz,  who 
locked  the  door  again  after  her,  went  away  toward 
the  river.  While  Doroteo  was  absent  she  had 
changed  her  dress,  and  he  saw,  as  she  came  out  in 
the  dawn,  that  it  was  red. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

TO  the  man  in  whom  there  is  something  of  the 
dreamer  it  seems  there  is  also  likely  to  be  cer 
tain  bitter  compensations  for  the  pleasure  of  his 
dreams.  Just  so  much  as  he  is  capable  of  rising  into 
the  mood  of  a  rarefied  medium,  just  so  much  is  he 
likely  to  be  wont  to  sink  into  moods  of  doubt  and 
darkness.  For  a  time  the  doubt  becomes  that  kind 
of  sickness  of  spirit  which,  like  the  morbidness  of  the 
sleepless,  sees  health  nowhere,  and  can  only  believe 
in  health  by  a  kind  of  unimpressive  hearsay.  This  is 
the  price  of  the  dreamer's  exaltation.  What  it  was 
that  sunk  Vicente  into  a  bad  mood  when  he  left  Ji- 
quilpan,  he  himself  did  not  know.  There  had  come 
into  his  mind  at  times  some  shadow  of  sorrow  con 
cerning  the  girl,  —  he  would  not  have  called  it  doubt. 
He  was  given,  too,  to  a  deep  and  comprehensive 
speculation  always,  which  may  have  been  often  too 
far  beyond  the  immediate  task  in  hand.  Otherwise 
he  might  have  doubted  Quiroz,  for  he  knew  some 
thing  of  Quiroz.  Yet,  thought  he,  to  what  cause 
could  an  adventurer  better  cling  than  this?  The  very 
nature  of  his  progress  and  his  project  seemed  to  him 
certain  to  hold  Quiroz.  Then,  too,  it  is  hard  for  a 
man  of  Vicente's  nature  to  realize  perfidy  of  the 
blackest  kind  till  he  sees  it  proved.  Hence,  wherein 
he  was  weakest  was  wherein  the  church  and  its  train 
ing  had  given  him  some  little  of  the  nature  of  the 


262  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

churchly  philosopher  who  loses  sight,  in  bigger 
schemes,  of  one  small  criminal  in  his  way. 

The  mounting  of  his  troops  had  been  pushed 
steadily  on.  He  now  had  horses  for  a  large  majority, 
—  a  number  approaching  fourteen  hundred.  As  his 
force  marched  out  of  Jiquilpan  shortly  before  dawn, 
this  cavalry  rode  in  advance  of  the  smaller  infantry. 
The  sense  of  coming  danger  was  heavy  on  Vicente  as 
they  went.  He  was  in  the  lead  —  silent.  Somehow 
his  thoughts  would  not  mount  over  this  day  and  go 
on  to  victory.  They  wandered  rather  in  the  past  and 
stopped  short  this  side  of  Tizapan. 

"  And  he  set  cherubim  and  a  flaming  sword  that 
turneth  every  way,"  muttered  he.  "  Ay,  the  strong 
man  will  come  —  before  the  century  ends.  But  what 
are  you,  with  your  old  Aztec  blood,  that  you  should 
pass  those  cherubim  and  that  sword?" 

He  became  restless  with  that  sense  of  danger  over 
him,  and  eager  to  dash  into  it  and  have  it  done.  The 
sun  came  up,  and  the  day  over  which  his  thoughts 
could  not  leap  was  begun.  It  was  scarcely  an  hour 
later  that  Anastasio's  thin  figure  and  flying  horse 
burst  with  ungainly  speed  on  his  view.  The  message 
was  delivered  and  communicated  to  the  troops.  They 
had  been  advancing  some  hours  at  a  brisk  gait. 
They  were  somewhat  stunned  by  the  news  of  that 
bold  move  of  Rodrigo's,  but  when  they  knew  Doro- 
teo's  estimate  of  thcjcfSs  numbers  they  shouted  and 
laughed  over  it,  and  were  eager  to  be  on.  Vicente 
only  smiled  when  he  heard  of  the  fleet.  He  knew 
now  that  the  greatest  speed  might  be  all  too  slow. 
He  abandoned  the  infantry,  with  the  command  that 
it  should  follow  as  rapidly  as  possible.  He  ordered 
the  cavalry  forward  with  such  speed  as  was  at  all 
compatible  with  the  distance. 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  263 

The  line  galloped  on,  grinding  the  trail  into  dust 
that  swirled  in  clouds  behind.  An  hour,  and  there 
was  many  a  horse  in  a  lather,  but  the  beat  of  the  gal 
lop  ceased  not.  Vicente  himself,  at  the  front  with 
Anastasio,  set  the  pace.  Anastasio's  horse,  because 
of  its  long  journey  hither,  began  to  give  out.  It  could 
not  stand  this  continued  charge.  Anastasio  fell  be 
hind.  That  lank  rider  found  himself  at  length  the 
last  of  the  line.  Francisco,  in  a  brotherly  mood,  con 
ceived  with  extreme  suddenness  and  acted  upon  with 
unwonted  alacrity,  lagged  likewise,  using  great  and 
highly  unselfish  energy  to  assist  his  comrade  on  with 
his  steed.  A  terrible  passion  fell  on  Anastasio,  a 
thing  exceeding  rare  to  that  languid  fisherman. 
Whereas  for  years  previous  he  had  not  felt  anger,  it 
was  as  though  the  years  heaped  it  all  now  within  him. 
Hence,  raging  over  the  prospect  of  dropping  far  be 
hind  and  seeing  none  of  the  fight  (a  prospect  by  no 
means  so  annoying  to  Francisco),  he  beat  his  animal 
with  clattering  vigor,  employing  for  this  purpose 
arms,  feet,  knees,  spurs,  even  the  whole  of  his  legs. 
Finally,  when  the  horse  would,  in  spite  of  all  tor 
ments,  stop  still  for  a  siesta  in  the  road's  middle,  An 
astasio  got  off  and  threw  rocks  at  it.  Francisco's 
excessive  sympathy  at  this  pass  was  worthy  of  a 
more  appreciative  object.  He  paused  likewise,  in 
dustriously  absorbed  in  his  condolence.  He  was  so 
furiously  berated  by  Anastasio  for  this  misplaced  zeal, 
that  he  at  length  reluctantly  pursued  the  flying 
troops.  Hence  it  was  that  the  deserted  philosopher 
entered  Tizapan  a  half  hour  after  the  last  of  the  cav 
alry  had  disappeared  in  the  narrow  street. 

By  half-past  eight,  such  was  the  speed  of  the  forced 
gallop,  the  troop  was  within  less  than  two  leagues 
from  the  town.  It  was  here  that  another  messenger 


264  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

met  it.  He  was  Doroteo's  MOSO,  riding  at  a  hard 
gallop  also.  The  line  was  not  halted;  the  messenger 
merely  fell  in  with  it.  He  handed  a  paper  to  Vicente, 
who  read  it  as  he  rode.  It  was  this : 

They  are  drawn  up  in  the  plaza,  watching  the  streets. 
They  are  a  little  over  two  hundred,  all  mounted.  They 
believe  you  are  near  and  that  they  have  no  time  to  fortify. 
Come  straight  up  the  river  street,  which  is  open.  We  will 
join  you.  Victory  is  ours.  But  it  depends  on  the  vigor  of 
the  charge,  for  their  position  is  bad  for  us.  Hence,  ride 
hard.  QUIROZ. 

The  news  was  passed  back  and  the  order  for  a  less 
ening  of  speed.  The  last  two  leagues  were  covered 
on  a  brisk  trot  only,  that  the  horses  might  be  a  little 
fresher.  The  town  was  then  suddenly  at  hand.  Be 
fore  entering  it  a  halt  was  ordered.  The  leader 
believed  it  unnecessary  to  attack  his  enemy  with 
his  entire  force,  a  force  whose  numbers  would  have 
produced  a  congestion  in  the  street  and  plaza  embar 
rassing  if  not  fatal.  He  therefore  chose  less  than  a 
third  of  his  cavalry  to  accompany  him  in  the  first 
charge.  He  formed  them  five  abreast;  commanded 
the  reserve  to  proceed  to  the  town  and  remain  in 
waiting  in  the  street;  and  gave  the  word  to  advance. 

They  came  to  the  river  road  that  cuts  the  lake  road 
at  right  angles.  Vicente  wheeled  into  it,  seeing  the 
mud  huts,  the  marsh,  the  rising  ducks,  the  glistening 
mirror  of  the  lake,  and  thirty  empty  canoas  lifting 
slim  masts  from  the  river.  The  cavalry  beat  up  be 
tween  the  stone  walls  to  the  town.  The  order  was 
given  that  the  charge  in  full  gallop,  boldly,  should  be 
entered  on  at  once  when  the  first  of  the  low  adobe 
houses  that  lined  the  street  should  be  reached.  A 
last  black  doubt  swept,  then,  over  Vicente.  He  re- 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  265 

membered  afterward  that  even  as  they  struck  the 
gallop  there  came  down  over  him  some  sense  of  the 
rottenness  of  the  whole  human  fabric.  He  was  filled 
with  a  calm  ferocity  after  that.  He  felt  like  a  spirit 
leaping  into  fire.  He  found  himself  saying  again,  as 
they  began  the  last  mad  charge  through  the  shaft : 
"  And  he  set  cherubim  and  a  flaming  sword  —  " 
The  town  had  till  then  lain  in  comparative  silence. 
It  had  been,  as  it  were,  hugging  itself  in  a  chill  an 
ticipation.  The  streets  were  long  since  deserted. 
There  was  indeed  a  band  of  more  than  two  hundred 
horsemen  drawn  up  in  the  plaza,  with  weapons  aimed 
at  the  river  way.  The  only  other  bridge,  that  had 
led  into  the  plaza  from  the  other  direction,  was  as 
lacking  as  it  had  been  when  Doroteo  saw  the  place 
of  it  in  the  night.  By  the  third  street,  from  the  west, 
Rodrigo  had  come.  As  he  rode  into  the  plaza 
Bonavidas  had  been  unable  longer  to  keep  back  the 
source  of  his  knowledge.  Rodrigo  turned  white  as 
he  listened.  Remorse  fell  on  him  as  though  he  had 
been  a  criminal.  But  he  was  there.  His  men  were 
there.  The  enemy  was  at  hand. 

There  was  silence  without  the  house  of  Ouiroz. 
The  iron  chain  was  still  in  the  street,  though  there 
had  been,  earlier,  a  change  in  the  position  of  it. 
The  swirls  of  extraordinary  colors  shone  as  gaudily 
on  the  walls  as  though  they  expressed  some  type  of 
self-assurance  and  vanity.  The  colors  had  been  the 
first  in  the  street  to  come  out  of  the  obscurity  of  the 
night.  The  earliest  dawn  had  had  its  first,  silent 
sport  with  the  green  and  the  red.  Not  long  after 
that  earliest  dawn,  and  when  the  street  was  still  dimly 
and  grayly  lit,  Quiroz  and  the  giant  had  come  stealth 
ily  out  of  the  patio  door,  closed  it,  and  rounded  the 
corner  into  the  fifteen-yard  stretch  where  the  chain 


266  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

was  still  coiled  against  the  wall.  They  crossed  the 
street  here  to  its  opposite  side.  There  was  then 
(and  in  some  parts  of  the  same  town  there  are  still 
similar  ones)  a  small  fruit  orchard  of  pomegranates, 
aguacatcs,  oranges,  etc.,  mingled  with  a  little  coffee. 
It  was  walled  in  on  two  sides  by  houses,  and  on  the 
side  next  the  street  by  a  thick  adobe  wall  as  high  as 
the  houses  themselves  and,  like  them,  capped  with 
tiles.  Over  the  tiles'  tops  were  seen  the  tops  of 
trees  stirring  a  little  with  the  morning's  breath.  The 
great  Fortino  bore  a  ladder,  and  there  were  iron  and 
instruments  in  the  hands  of  Quiroz.  This  little  turn 
of  the  street  was  deserted.  Its  dust  and  stones 
seemed  to  be  asleep  in  the  dim  gray. 

The  ladder  was  put  against  the  garden  wall  op 
posite  the  house,  and  the  two  climbed  up  to  the  tiles 
and  pulled  it  after  them.  They  then  lowered  it 
within  and  descended.  The  trees  cast  a  deep  shade. 
The  scent  of  orange  blossoms  was  strong,  and  the 
slick  leaves  of  coffee,  even  in  the  gloom,  had  begun 
to  shine.  There  was  no  sound  save  that  of  the  men 
themselves  or  the  occasional  falling  of  a  purple  alli 
gator  pear  from  some  unseen  height.  Then  the 
sweat,  which  with  him  was  ever  a  mental  product, 
came  out  on  the  ox-like  Fortino  and  he  seized  the 
tools  and  began  digging  in  the  adobe  wall  at  a  height 
a  little  lower  than  a  man's  shoulder.  Quiroz  stood 
over  him  urging  him  on  in  suave  whispers. 

"  They  will  know,"  said  Quiroz,  "  that  Fortino, 
the  slender,  conceived  it,  executed  it,  and  wears  his 
glory  as  he  wears  his  grace.  Let  other  heroes  be 
like  this.  There  will  be  no  strutting  out  of  Fortino. 
It  is  to  keep  faith,  to  redeem  pledges,  to  establish 
again  that  repute  that  the  sensitive  mind  felt  gone. 
Ah,  these  are  the  world's  noblemen !  At  it,  my 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  267 

boy  !  — you  are  a  foot  and  a  half  through.  I  should 
say  you  are  more  than  half  the  distance.  This  wall 
is  never  a  nun's  finger  thicker  than  a  vara.  God ! 
this  place  might  be  a  nunnery  and  we  getting  into 
it,  an  idea  sufficiently  full  of  poetry  if  I  had  time  to 
carry  it  out." 

"  Give  me  only  ten  minutes,"  growled  the  giant, 
hoarsely. 

Three  quarters  of  an  hour  after  entering,  the  two 
and  the  ladder  were  again  in  the  street,  which  had 
grown  lighter.  They  passed  some  excited  men  and 
women  who  came  a  moment  too  late  to  see  from 
whence  they  had  taken  that  means  of  ascent  which 
Fortino  again  bore  on  his  shoulder.  They  rounded 
the  corner  to  the  patio  door  and  went  in,  at  which 
moment  the  huge  one  burst  into  a  private  and  fear 
ful  laugh  that  was  a  kind  of  monstrous  exultation. 
And  from  the  garden  wall,  where  they  had  worked, 
protruded  some  inches  into  the  street  a  heavy  iron 
hook  capable  of  withstanding  a  mighty  strain,  for 
it  was  but  the  curved  end  of  a  bar  that  ran  three  feet 
through  the  solid  adobe  and  was  clamped  on  the 
far  side. 

In  the  house  Dona  Manuela  was  again  to  be  seen, 
and  still  in  the  light  blue.  Dona  Manuela's  hair, 
turning  gray,  was  arranged  but  loosely,  and  a  curl, 
grayer  than  the  rest,  fell  down  on  her  cheek. 

"  Ah,  Doroteo  !  "  cried  she,  running  out  to  the 
corredor  as  the  men  came  in.  "  I  was  driven  very 
unhappy,  for  you  and  the  girl  were  gone  !  Where 
were  you?  And  be  very  careful,  my  son,  lest  you 
take  some  false  step  that  you  would  regret  till  the 
day  of  your  death,  which  Mary  grant  it  may  be  here 
in  your  bed  and  peaceful." 

"  I  am  more  careful  than  St.  John  when  he  wrote 


268  A    DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

books  and  recorded  visions,  Mamacita"  He  led 
Fortino  to  the  rear  patio,  let  him  through,  and  whis 
pered :  "At  it  again,  thou  patriotic  heart,  and  let 
purgatory's  flames  be  slower !  " 

"  This  is  true,"  said  the  anxious  lady  as  he  returned 
to  her;  "wild  and  uncareful  ways  were  ever  unnat 
ural  to  you,  Doroteo.  But  I  am  sometimes  afraid 
you  may  be  led  astray.  She  is  really  a  quiet  girl, 
Doroteo?  Is  she  a  good  girl,  such  as  your  old 
mother  would  want  you  to  keep  company  with?" 

She  passed  her  hand  over  his  face,  looked  up  at 
him,  eagerly,  and  ran  her  fingers  under  his  sombrero 
and  through  his  hair. 

"  I  have  never  seen  anything  about  her  that  any 
Castilian  or  Moorish  traditions  could  blush  at,"  said 
he.  "  She  will  be  coming  back,  and  as  modest  as 
white  violets,  1  '11  swear  by  any  kind  of  an  image." 

An  hour  later,  during  which  hour  there  had  been 
hammering  in  the  rear  court,  the  street  door,  which 
Doroteo  had  not  again  locked,  was  opened  and  Pepa 
came  in.  She  carried  a  set  expression  of  the  feat 
ures  during  those  hours,  and  a  deep  and  strange 
gaze  was  in  her  eyes,  a  gaze  that  frightened  Dona 
Manuela,  true-hearted  Dona  Manuela,  who,  though 
all  she  thought  was  mistaken,  though  she  clung  only 
to  false  old  beliefs  concerning  that  handsome  son 
than  whom  there  could  have  been  no  greater  stranger 
to  her  on  the  sad  face  of  the  earth,  still  held  the 
great  good,  the  glory  that  will  shine  because  it  is 
faith  when  the  earth  is  dead.  She  had  made  many 
little  fluttering  plans  about  going  to  Pepa,  when 
Pepa  should  come  in,  and  putting  her  arm  about 
her  and  having  a  good,  satisfying  talk  with  the  girl. 
But  when  she  saw  Pepa,  the  fluttering  changed  and 
she  could  not  approach  her. 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  269 

Doroteo  locked  the  patio  door  after  the  girl.  She 
said  nothing  to  him  of  her  success,  but  he  knew  it 
from  her  face. 

"Is  it  ready?"  asked  she,  her  eye  burning,  but 
with  a  tone  not  soft  or  satisfied,  and  on  hearing 
which  Dona  Manuela  went  away  slowly  under  the 
corrector. 

"The  garden,  yes  —  a  minute  more  and  the  other 
likewise.  The  red  again  !  Passion  of  God  !  —  I  love 
you  in  red  !  I  made  it  a  rule  when  I  was  still  a 
boy  that  I  would  never  play  any  color  but  the  red. 
There  must  be  a  red  fire  in  my  very  soul,  else  I  am 
born  near  hell  and  hear  the  crackle  of  the  blaze.  I 
am  like  a  bull,  that  the  color  maddens  me.  I  never 
see  it  that  something  in  me  does  not  stir  as  though  it 
would  leap.  I  can  shut  my  eyes  any  time  in  the 
night  and  see  a  red  stream,  like  blood,  flowing  hot 
through  my  brain.  Ideas,  people,  deeds,  associate 
themselves  to  me  with  colors,  and  if  the  color  is  red, 
the  idea,  the  person,  the  deed  is  mine  or  I  will  die 
getting  it.  Pepa,  if  I  shut  my  eyes  and  think  of  you 
—  Muerte  de  Dios  !  there  was  never  a  color  so  deep, 
so  maddening  as  that.  It  is  as  though  my  soul  were 
suddenly  a  mass  of  flame.  You  have  dressed  thus 
for  me  on  the  great  day ! " 

He  went  away  to  the  door  of  the  rear  court.  She 
had  not  smiled  at  him,  and  when  he  turned,  having 
said  she  had  dressed  in  red  for  him,  there  was  a  high 
scorn  on  her  face.  He  came  back  with  Fortino, 
who  was  absorbed  in  his  deed  to  as  great  an  extent 
as  the  mass  of  his  body  was  great.  Fortino  carried 
more  tools  and  more  iron,  and  there  were  still  noises 
in  him,  and  when  he  passed  Pepa  he  emitted  heat  like 
the  lime-kiln  to  which  Anastasio  had  compared  him. 
He  went  with  Doroteo  to  Pepa's  room  and  the  two 


270  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

entered  it,  she  following.  Dona  Manuela,  bewildered 
and  bent  at  the  far  end  of  the  corrector,  scared  at  the 
tools  and  the  iron,  came  slowly  up,  trembling  and 
murmuring: 

"  Oh  Doroteo  !     Oh  Doroteo  !  " 

The  room  Pepa  had  occupied  was  the  corner  room  ; 
that  is  to  say,  its  east  side  was  upon  that  part  of  the 
street  which  was  the  straight  stretch  to  the  river,  its 
south  side  was  on  the  fifteen-yard  stretch  between 
the  two  angles.  There  were  two  windows  in  it,  one 
in  each  of  the  two  sides  named.  The  east  win 
dow  therefore,  looked  out  on  the  straight  way  over 
which  cavalry  would  pass  before  reaching  the  first 
corner.  That  window  was,  indeed,  not  far  from  the 
patio  door,  which  led  out  into  that  way  and  faced 
in  the  same  direction.  The  south  window  gave  view 
across  the  street  to  the  garden  from  whose  wall  pro 
truded  the  iron  hook.  Mention  has  been  made  of 
the  bars  that  protected  these  windows.  The  feature 
is  a  common  one  —  nearly  a  universal  one —  in  Mex 
ico  to-day.  From  the  high  top  to  the  low  bottom 
near  the  floor,  there  extended  over  the  outer  sides  of 
these  two  apertures  iron  bars  a  few  inches  apart,  like 
the  bars  of  a  jail.  These  were  bent  at  the  ends  to 
right  angles,  and  the  ends  were  inserted  deep  in  the 
outer  adobes  surrounding  the  windows  and  fastened 
securely ;  so  that  the  plane  of  the  bars  was  a  few 
inches  beyond  the  plane  of  the  wall.  On  this 
account  one  could  stand  on  the  broad  sill  and,  look 
ing  up  and  down  the  street,  see  the  whole  of  it,  which 
view  would  have  been  impossible  had  the  bars  been 
flush  with  the  wall.  This,  too,  is  the  common 
arrangement  to-day. 

The  hook    in   the  garden  adobes  was  opposite  a 
spot   corresponding  to  one  nearly  in  the  southwest 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  271 

corner  of  the  room,  to  the  right  of  the  south  window 
as  one  looked  out,  and  some  seven  yards  from  the 
street's  angle,  for  the  apartment  was  large.  To  this 
corner  went  the  giant  in  his  labors  of  glory.  Here, 
too,  he  assaulted  the  plastering  (tinted  blue  and  with 
lines  and  stencil-figures  of  red  and  brown)  and  came 
to  the  adobe  and  assaulted  that,  the  drops  running 
from  his  face,  his  throat  giving  out  grunts.  Doroteo 
and  the  girl  stood  silently  behind  him  and  Dona 
Manuela  crept  to  the  door.  Then  she  cried  out: 

"  Oh  my  son  !  This  will  make  an  ill  appearance. 
Doroteo!  Doroteo!  what  is  it?  What  terrible  thing 
are  you  going  to  do?  I  have  felt  it  all  night  that 
you  would  do  something  that  you  would  regret. 
What  is  the  meaning  of  this  awful  hole?" 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  there  came  a  knocking 
on  the  iron  knocker  of  the  patio  door.  She  did  not 
heed  it,  perhaps  did  not  hear  it.  Pepa  was  as  still  as 
a  mute,  watching  the  tools  in  Fortino's  hands.  It 
would  have  taken  a  many  times  more  ominous  knock 
ing  than  that  to  wake  Fortino  from  the  internal 
frenzy  of  his  dream.  For  indeed  the  knocking  was 
a  little  timid.  Doroteo,  who  had  stood  near  the  east 
window  as  though  guarding  it,  gave  no  appearance 
of  perceiving  the  knock. 

"  The  truth  is,  mother,"  said  he,  "  that  my  enemies 
are  coming  up  this  street  to  sack  the  town.  Fortino, 
this  patriot  here,  is  going  to  stretch  the  big  chain 
across  for  a  little  impediment.  The  idea  is  masterful 
and  all  Fortino's." 

"S/,  let  them  come  —  let  them  come!  "  muttered 
Fortino  from  the  corner. 

"Oh  Doroteo!  "  cried  the  old  lady,  throwing  her 
self  upon  him.  "  I  beseech  you  to  leave  the  war  alone  ! 
—  Come,  come  —  your  life  shall  be  quieter  !  " 


27  2  A   DREAM    OF  A    THRONE 

There  was  a  second  knocking  on  the  iron  knocker 
at  the  door,  louder  but  still  unheeded. 

"  You  would  make  a  coward  of  me,  mother,"  asked 
he  blandly,  "  when  the  enemy  comes  to  sack  the 
town  and  carry  you  off  ? " 

"  No,"  she  answered  with  sadness,  "  they  would  n't 
want  a  poor  old  soul  like  me."  She  sank  into  a 
painful  revery,  still  clinging  to  him,  during  which 
there  was  a  third  knocking,  louder  and  still  more  pro 
longed.  "  Is  it  necessary  to  the  war,  all  this,  and  the 
terrible  hole?"  asked  she.  "  Doroteo,  I  wanted  you 
to  follow  the  natural  bent  of  your  nature  and  —  Oh 
Holy  Mary !  is  that  hook  out  there  in  Don  Ana- 
cleto's  garden  wall  for  the  chain  ?  Why  Doroteo  ! 
if  some  of  the  horses  trip  on  it  the  riders  will  be 
killed  !  " 

The  fourth  knocking,  irregular,  like  that  of  one  in 
great  haste  and  growing  fearful.  Doroteo  moved  to 
the  window  and  looked  out,  saying: 

"  Not  likely,  Mamacita.  Ah,  it  is  the  auburn- 
haired  one.  How  in  the  name  of  miracles  did  that 
little  bird  flutter  here?" 

He  and  Pepa  exchanged  glances,  and  Pepa  went 
out,  followed  quickly  by  Dona  Manuela. 

"Auburn  hair,  did  he  say?"  murmured  the  latter. 
Whose?  —  was  it  hair  he  said?  Ah!  Clarita !  Clar- 
ita  !  Oh  little  lady  —  how  did  you  come  —  and  you 
had  n't  forgotten  me  !  " 

"  I  came  in  one  of  the  boats,"  said  Clarita, 
admitted  by  Pepa.  She  was  tired  and  wretched. 
She  had  grown  very  much  afraid  at  the  door,  think 
ing  no  one  would  come  to  let  her  in,  being  alone  in 
the  town  without  friends,  and  all  the  danger  and  the 
fear  of  battles,  and  the  fear  for  him  accompanying 
her.  "  I  came  because  I  —  I  wanted  to  come.  This 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  273 

is  all,"  said  she,  taking  off  the  gray  rebozo,  whereat 
the  auburn  hair  shone. 

"  But  you  have  come  to  a  terrible  place,"  groaned 
Dona  Manuela.  "  Come  away ;  I  will  give  you  some 
thing  to  eat." 

"  Only  a  little  coffee,  Dona  Manuela.  Pepa,  Pepa  ! 
I  did  not  know  you  were  here.  Then  Vicente,  too, 
has  come?  Pepa,  I  think  you  are  not  well;  you  do 
not  look  well.  There  is  Doroteo  in  the  room,  too  — 
oh  tell  me,  has  Vicente  come !  " 

Doroteo  had  stepped  to  the  room  door  and  closed 
and  locked  it. 

"  He  has  not  come,"  said  Pepa,  "  but  he  is  coming 
in  an  hour." 

It  was  like  a  soft  spring  day  in  the  midst  of  winter, 
this  coming  of  the  gentle  one.  She  walked  across 
the  patio,  clothed  in  her  faithfulness  and  her  inno 
cence,  and  none  of  the  crime  came  near  her.  She  ate 
a  little  in  the  kitchen,  wept  over  and  fondled  by  Dona 
Manuela,  whose  whole  heart  and  all  its  frozen  fears 
and  longings  melted  with  a  rush  before  Clarita ;  to  all 
of  which  Clarita  smiled  a  little  and  had  the  dimples 
out,  and  was  eager,  in  her  sadness,  for  the  hour  to 
pass.  Meanwhile  Pepa  stood  just  outside  the  door 
of  the  room  wherein  Fortino  was  at  work,  and  kept 
her  gaze,  a  hard  one,  on  the  kitchen,  and  guarded 
the  secret.  Afterward  she  went  to  the  kitchen 
door  and  said  abruptly: 

"  Did  the  jefe  say  how  he  would  come  to  the 
plaza?" 

"  No,"  said  Clarita,  "  I  did  n't  talk  to  him  about 
that." 

Pepa  went  back  to  the  door  of  her  own  room  re 
lieved.  Then  Clarita's  arrival  was  of  less  moment 
than  she  had  thought  probable.  Clarita,  too,  would 

18 


274  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

suppose  Rodrigo's  course  to  be  up  this  street.  Yet 
it  were  best  to  keep  her  away  from  Fortino  till  the 
work  should  be  done.  Quiroz  came  and  spoke  a 
moment  to  Pepa,  and  returned  and  again  closed  the 
door. 

"  Do  you  know  who  has  come?  "  he  was  now  say 
ing  to  the  sweating  fisherman,  kneeling  down  and 
laying  a  hand  on  the  other's  shoulder  as  he  worked. 
"  Clarita.  She  came  by  one  of  my  own  canoas  from 
Chapala.  She  has  seen  Vicente,  and  she,  soul  of 
honesty,  is  our  witness  that  Vicente  has  arrived.  She 
came  from  the  plaza  and  he  has  sent  her  here  for 
safety.  Have  you  kept  your  ears  alert,  my  moun 
tainous  one  —  have  you  listened  for  the  tramp  of 
horses?  " 

"  I  have  listened  and  there  has  been  no  horse  pass 
by  this  street,"  said  Fortino,  coming  to  the  outer  air 
at  last  and  completing  the  hole  with  a  grunt  of 
satisfaction. 

"And  why?  Because  the  scheme  goes  on  as 
Quiroz  said.  Vicente  has  entered  the  town  by  the 
other  bridge.  At  this  moment  his  spurs  are  clinking 
in  the  plaza.  Do  you  know,  old  hungerer  for  deeds, 
I  long  since  sent  my  mozo  to  lie  in  wait  for  Rodrigo 
at  the  lake  road  from  Tuxcueco  and  (for  my  mozo  is 
unknown  to  that  doomed /r/r)  to  tell  him  of  Vicente's 
readiness.  Hence  Rodrigo  is  no  such  fool  as  not  to 
be  in  full  gallop  when  the  pretty  play  is  made.  Come 
—  out;  and  up  with  the  chain." 

"  No,"  said  Fortino. 

"  What  is  it  now  !  " 

"  I  shall  out  and  prepare,  si  seTwr"  said  Fortino. 
"  But  the  chain  comes  not  up  till  the  horses  are  on 
it.  Ha!  ha!  Give  my  strong  arm  one  good  last 
chance  !  " 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  275 

"  Fortino,  Fortino,  my  boy,  can  you  be  sure  of  it 
thus?  It  would  take  strength  like  that  of  a  bull  and 
a  speed  straight  out  of  Heaven  !  " 

"  Fah !  "  thundered  Fortino,  going  to  the  door. 
"  I  shall  not  risk  their  seeing  it  and  pulling  up.  Ha  ! 
ha!  Ha!  ha!" 

Laughing  wildly  he  went  out  across  the  patio  and 
into  the  street.  He  turned  the  corner  and  came  to 
the  hole  he  had  made  through  the  gaudy  wall.  He 
lifted  an  end  of  the  coil  that  lay  there  and  passed  it 
through  the  aperture  to  Quiroz. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  cried  a  last  passer-by, 
hurrying  away  to  safety. 

"  It  is  not  any  of  your  damned  business !  "  cried 
Fortino,  and  returned  to  the  patio,  and  into  the  room, 
still  laughing. 

So  they  clamped  that  chain  end  immovably  inside 
the  room  with  strong  iron,  which,  before  it  could 
break  through,  must  tear  out  a  good  fourth  of  the 
wall ;  and  it  may  be  as  well  to  remind  the  reader 
again  that  the  adobe  walls  of  a  good  house  are  of 
great  thickness  and  solidity. 

It  was  approaching  nine  o'clock  when  the  fisher 
man  again  went  out  on  to  the  street,  his  form  swelling 
and  his  eyes  seeing  nothing.  The  houses  might  have 
been  pearl,  so  full  of  an  exaltation  was  he,  a  righteous, 
faithful  exaltation,  a  desire  to  do  good,  strong  deeds 
in  an  honest  cause  —  ay,  the  streets  might  have  been 
paved  with  gold. 

Doroteo  locked  the  patio  door  after  him  and  went 
and  locked  also  the  door  of  the  room  wherein  he  had 
worked.  So  that  chosen  apartment  was  left  empty 
with  its  clamps  of  iron  and  its  chain  end  and  its  hole 
in  the  wall.  Quiroz  handled  the  two  heavy  keys  for 
one  hesitating  second.  Each  was  monstrous,  that  of 


276  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

the  room  especially  so,  being  a  foot  in  length  and 
of  heavy  metal.  There  were  reasons  why  Quiroz 
deemed  it  best  that  his  person  should  not  be  encum 
bered  by  such  a  weight  of  iron.  It  was  in  that 
second  that  Pepa  went  out  by  the  rear  door  that  led 
into  the  second  court.  She  proceeded  thence  into 
the  alley  and  streets  Anastasio  had  traversed.  Quiroz 
cast  a  glance  at  the  kitchen.  His  mother  was  still 
there  with  Clarita,  but  she  would  be  hovering  over 
him  in  a  minute  more. 

He  slipped  into  the  glassy  and  unhome-like  parlor 
and  hid  the  two  keys  amidst  the  artificial  fruit,  the 
cracked  crystal  chirimoya,  the  slices  of  melon,  the 
china  mango  —  buried  them  in  that  uninviting  heap 
of  painted  lusciousness.  Then  he  came  stealthily  out 
and,  as  silently  as  the  girl  had  gone,  went  through 
the  back  court  and  into  the  alley  by  the  smithy.  He 
did  not  lock  those  two  rear  doors  but  closed  them, 
leaving  a  quicker  retreat  if  it  should  be  needed.  At 
the  smithy  he  turned  to  the  left  in  the  lane  and  came, 
after  a  few  yards,  to  that  prolongation  of  the  fifteen- 
yard  stretch  by  which  Anastasio  had  entered  the 
latter  when  he  rode  past  the  house  and  away. 
Quiroz,  just  before  coming  to  the  first  of  the  fifteen 
yards,  found  Pepa,  like  a  red  statue,  standing  at  the 
corner  of  the  street  that  led  into  the  plaza.  She  was 
waiting  there,  hid  from  the  view  of  any  one  in  the 
plaza  itself,  but  being  so  near  the  corner  that  merely 
a  step  would  be  sufficient  to  bring  the  gleam  of  a  red 
dress  to  the  eyes  of  those  waiting.  Quiroz  passed 
her,  singing  softly: 

"  She  staked  her  love  upon  the  red  —  " 

He  passed  by  the  opening  of  the  street  that  led 
into  the  plaza  and,  looking  thither,  saw  cavalry  stand- 


A    DREAM    OF  A    THRONE  277 

ing.  He  went  on'  and  entered  the  fifteen-yard  stretch, 
in  the  middle  of  which  was  Fortino.  Fortino's  laugh 
ter  had  sunk  into  the  subterranean  chuckle.  The 
chain  of  massive  links  was  stretched  across  the  road, 
but  lying  on  the  ground.  It  was  almost  twice  as 
long  as  was  necessary.  So  he  (standing  against  the 
garden  wall  and  by  the  hook)  held  it  near  its  middle, 
the  useless  portion  being  coiled  at  the  wall's  foot. 
But  even  so  much  of  that  unbreakable  line  of  iron 
was  of  great  weight,  and  the  hook  was  nearly  as  high 
as  his  shoulder. 

"  Can  you  do  it?  "  said  Quiroz. 

"  Si,  lo  hare"  was  the  untroubled  response. 

The  street  was  so  narrow  that  the  distance  of  seven 
yards  to  the  first  corner  would  prevent  Fortino's  being 
seen  by  the  approachers  till  they  were  near  rounding 
the  turn.  Fortino  was  cogitating  on  this  point. 

"  Si —  but  they  must  be  nearer  than  that  —  nearer 
than  that,"  muttered  he. 

"  No  !  "  cried  Quiroz  with  passion.  "  In  the  name 
of  all  that  is  holy,  up  with  it  before  they  make  the 
turn !  " 

"  Not  so !  "  grunted  the  preoccupied  Fortino. 

"  I  tell  you  yes,"  whispered  Doroteo.  "  At  least 
leave  it  to  me.  Give  your  attention,  man,  to  the 
chain.  I  will  tell  you  when  to  swing  it  up.  Wait 
not  too  long! " 

"  Vamos  a  ver"  responded  Fortino. 

When  Quiroz  had  left  the  house  he  had  for  a  mo 
ment  forgotten  the  properties  of  a  mother's  eyes  and 
ears.  Dona  Manuela,  in  the  kitchen,  had  seen  his 
stealthy  entrance  into  the  parlor  and  had  heard  the 
slight  rattle  of  the  crystal  fruit.  When  he  went  out, 
she  ran  after  him,  calling  him : 

"  I  want  you  with  me,  Doroteo  !  " 


278  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

But  he  had  not  heard  and  was  gone.  She  came 
back  and,  Clarita  having  drunk  her  coffee,  Doiia 
Manuela,  followed  by  the  girl  (who  was  beginning 
to  be  frightened  by  the  lady's  manner),  ran  to  the 
parlor  and,  knocking  the  crystal  cJiiriinoya  to  the 
glazed  brick  floor  where  it  burst  into  a  score  of  pieces, 
discovered  the  keys. 

"  Clarita !  "  cried  she,  "  they  are  leading  him  into  a 
secrecy  that  is  as  unnatural  to  him  as  it  is  painful  to 
his  mother.  Come,  I  feel  that  I  must  open  the  door 
of  the  room." 

And  she  went  to  it,  the  sky  blue  dress  fluttering. 
In  her  fulness  of  heart  and  desire  to  talk  of  the 
nature  of  Doroteo,  she  had  not  at  all  explained  to 
Clarita  the  matter  of  the  chain.  She  had  chattered 
on  as  though  the  other  knew  of  it,  and  Clarita  was 
by  now  quite  bewildered.  The  door  was  unlocked 
and  the  two  went  in,  and  the  old  lady  with  fear  and 
trembling  pointed  at  the  end  of  the  chain  clamped 
against  the  wall  in  the  corner. 

"  These  are  the  awful  things  he  is  led  into.  Oh, 
Clarita,  my  little  friend  !  my  little  friend  !  " 

Clarita  stared  at  it.  Then  she  came  a  step  nearer 
the  south  window  and  looked  out  and  saw  Fortino, 
the  huge,  the  ugly,  standing  against  the  opposite  wall, 
his  loose  white  trousers  flapping  in  a  little  breeze,  his 
blue  sash  brilliant,  his  head  bare,  his  eyes  staring  in  a 
trance  at  the  corner,  the  chain  in  his  hand.  Quiroz 
was  near  him.  The  street  was  as  silent  as  though  the 
town  were  dead.  The  sun  came  into  it  and  was  yellow 
on  the  stones,  the  earth,  and  the  adobes ;  the  breath 
from  the  lake  lifted  the  dust  aimlessly  and  swirled  it 
about  in  little  funnels.  She  was  horrified.  She  felt 
all  the  blood  in  her  veins  as  though  it  stood  sud 
denly  still. 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  279 

"What  are  they  going  to  do,  Dona  Manuela?" 
asked  she,  whispering  it. 

"  Why,  they  say  their  enemy  is  coming  and  they 
will  stop  him,"  cried  the  other.  "  Oh  !  I  cannot  look 
—  yet,  yet  —  I  will  have  to  !  I  cannot  —  yet  I  can 
not  refrain.  Nay,  nay,  I  will  not  look !  " 

Clarita's  face  turned  suddenly  gray.  She  had  been 
too  young,  too  sincere  and  innocent,  to  dream  of  it 
before  —  but  had  she  had  time  to  think  she  would 
now  have  known  the  great,  new  thing  that  was  born 
in  her  heart.  Don  Rodrigo  and  his  men  were  to 
plunge  into  that  trap.  She  went  to  the  east  win 
dow,  the  window  that  gave  view  toward  the  river,  and 
stepped  up  on  its  ledge  and  looked  down.  Far  away 
there  were  horses  galloping  here  at  a  fearful  speed. 
She  was  sick  and  clung  to  the  iron.  "  At  least,"  said 
she,  "  it  will  save  my  brother.  Oh  Vicente  !  Vicente  ! 
the  chain  will  save  you  !  "  So  she  stood,  fascinated, 
unable  to  move,  and  prayed  to  Mother  Mary,  while 
Dona  Manuela,  seeing  by  the  girl's  face  that  the  mo 
ment  was  come,  crouched  in  the  room  and  covered 
her  ears  and  her  eyes  with  her  hands. 

The  galloping  troop  came  on  and  its  speed  seemed 
increased.  They  were  within  two  hundred  yards  of 
her  when  she  recognized  him.  The  knowledge  came 
to  her  like  the  stab  of  a  knife,  but  it  gave  her  thought 
and  swiftness.  She  leaped  from  the  window  with  a 
cry,  ran  from  the  room  and  to  the  patio  door,  the  one 
idea,  to  stop  him,  crystallized  in  her  brain.  She 
pushed  and  beat  upon  the  door.  It  was  locked  and 
the  terrified  Dona  Manuela  had  the  key. 

"The  key!  The  key!"  cried  the  girl,  rushing 
frantically  upon  her.  The  old  woman  could  not 
realize  it  or  obey.  It  was  too  late.  The  horses' 
gallop  was  heard  close  to  the  spot.  Clarita  ran  again 


28o  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

with  a  wild  despair  to  the  east  window  and  seized  the 
iron  and  called.  It  was  he  indeed.  He  was  close  to 
her.  He  was  passing  her.  Madly  she  shrieked  his 
name  —  the  gallop  drowned  it  and  he  had  gone  by, 
pulling  up  slightly  to  wheel  the  corner,  wheeling  it 
out  of  her  sight.  She  was  not  one  to  bury  her  face. 
Her  terror  was  too  vast.  She  was  at  once  at  the 
south  window,  springing  to  its  sill,' seeing  the  chain, 
crying  to  him  piteously. 

Outside  there  had  come  to  Fortino  too  the  sound 
of  the  hoofs.  He  gave  one  more  fierce  laugh  and 
steeled  his  mighty  muscles.  The  cavalry  came  burst 
ing  round  the  corner  upon  him.  He  waited  till  the 
last  second.  He  heard  Quiroz's  shrill  scream,  "  Up 
with  it !  Up  with  it !  "  and  felt  Quiroz's  fists  beating 
his  great  back.  He  put  out  all  his  monstrous  strength 
and  the  line  of  iron  links  swung  up.  He  saw,  then, 
Vicente's  face,  a  fine,  set,  white  face,  and  the  eyes 
bent  ahead.  He  recognized  it,  yet  he  did  not  rec 
ognize  it.  The  time  was  too  short.  The  great  deed 
was  too  strong  on  him  —  bewilderment  could  not  stop 
it;  and  Quiroz  was  screaming  in  his  ears.  Confused, 
he  saw  Clarita  in  the  window  beating  the  bars  she 
could  not  break,  pale  as  death  and  screaming.  His 
neck  swelled  in  bristling  folds  and  his  muscles  were 
steel.  The  chain  swung  up  and  a  link  of  it  fell  over 
the  hook,  and  the  cavalry,  which  in  that  second  had 
rushed  on  to  its  doom,  crashed  against  the  unyielding 
iron  barrier.  Vicente  in  front,  was  thrown  forward, 
over  his  horse's  head,  over  the  chain,  falling  stunned 
in  the  street  beyond.  His  steed,  with  those  beside  it, 
was  hurled  back  on  haunches  and  the  riders  were  cast 
to  earth.  The  next  beasts  were  upon  them,  and  the 
next  and  the  next  dashed  into  the  struggling  heap. 
Men  shrieked  and  went  down  amidst  trampling  hoofs 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  281 

The  whole  distance  to  the  corner  and  beyond  it  be 
came  one  fearful  mass  of  indiscriminate  ruin;  till, 
owing  to  the  fact  that  there  was  necessarily  some 
little  distance  between  each  successive  five  and  the  fol 
lowing  five,  the  onward  charge  was  at  length  stopped 
with  all  but  less  than  one  hundred  pulled  short  in  the 
river  road,  safe  but  panic-stricken,  turning,  fleeing. 

At  the  moment  of  the  shock  the  red  dress  had  ap 
peared  suddenly  in  the  street  that  led  to  the  plaza. 
A  moment  more  and  ihejefis  troop  was  down  on  the 
ruin.  There  was  scarcely  a  shot  fired,  for  there  was 
scarce  need  of  it.  In  the  main,  Rodrigo's  men 
leaped  from  their  horses  and  secured  their  prisoners. 
Those  at  whom  they  would  have  shot  were  round  a 
corner,  and  there  was  no  wading  through  that  mass 
of  man  and  beast.  Vicente  was  picked  up  and  car 
ried  into  safety  as  were  many  more,  and  guarded. 
The  work  of  extrication  went  on,  and  the  mass  was 
untangled.  Rodrigo  found  himself  trembling  as  he 
worked,  as  though  from  fear;  and,  looking  up  once 
through  the  bars  of  the  window,  he  perceived  the 
form  of  a  girl  lying  there  as  though  dead,  and  he  saw 
that  her  hair  was  auburn. 

On  Fortino  the  terrible  mistake,  for  mistake  as  yet 
he  believed  it,  broke  with  a  force  beyond  bitterness. 
The  giant  was  rendered  mad.  He  cast  his  eyes 
about  like  a  dying  ox.  He  saw  the  red  dress  of  Pepa 
among  his  enemies.  He  grasped  at  the  last  straw  to 
save  his  honor.  He  remembered,  in  the  midst  of 
that  infernal  confusion,  that  he  had  once  promised  to 
carry  that  girl  out  of  danger,  if  danger  should  arise. 
He  believed  her  beset  by  enemies.  With  a  hideous 
sound  that  was  more  of  a  roar  than  a  cry,  and  seem 
ing  crazy  as  the  craziest  lunatic,  he  burst  through  the 
enemy,  man  and  horse,  with  a  force  like  the  force  of 
a  warship.  He  swung  his  arms  and  broke  limbs  as 


282  A  DREAM  OF  A    III  RONE 

he  went.  He  came  to  the  girl,  and  seized  her  from 
the  ground,  lifting  her  with  a  grip  it  would  have 
taken  ten  men  to  loose.  He  plunged  then  with  her, 
through  the  last  obstruction,  crying  out  something  in 
a  strange  Indian  tongue,  and  went  striding  away. 
She  called  to  him  and  pleaded  with  him,  and  all  but 
cursed  him.  She  writhed  and  tore  at  his  hair  and 
face.  It  had  no  more  effect  on  that  striding  giant 
than  would  have  had  a  swarm  of  flies. 

"  Fortino  can  do  something !  O  my  Lord  !  He 
can  take  care  of  ladies  !  This  is  the  field  for  the 
cursed  —  ladies  —  ladies  !  " 

He  strode  on,  turned  the  corner  into  the  little  lane, 
and  came  to  the  smithy,  still  crying  out,  still  heeding 
not  the  writhings  and  the  protestations  of  the  girl. 
He  opened  the  rear  door  and  bore  her  through.  He 
crossed  that  court  where  he  had  forged  the  iron,  and 
came  to  the  patio  door.  He  mistakenly  thought  it 
was  locked.  With  his  last  fury  he  dashed  at  it  with 
his  shoulder.  It  was  not  a  strong  door,  and  it  burst 
like  glass,  and  he  tramped  through.  He  went  under 
the  patio  s  waving  trees  and  over  its  brick  pavement. 
Dona  Manucla  was  running  to  him,  tottering.  He 
heeded  her  not.  He  clung  to  the  girl.  He  bore  her 
under  the  tiled  roof  of  the  corredor,  and  all  but  flung 
her  into  the  room  where  Clarita  lay.  Then,  himself 
remaining  outside,  he  banged  the  door  to,  locked  it, 
and  hurled  the  key  into  the  air  a  hundred  yards  away. 
He  sat  down,  after  that,  with  his  back  to  the  wall,  and 
blubbered. 

"  There,  O  woman  !  "  cried  he  to  the  haggard  lady. 
"  There  is  your  prize !  I  promised  I  would  marry 
her.  So  help  me,  pinnacles  of  Heaven,  I  will  marry 
her  to  the  Archangel  Gabriel,  if  you  but  speak  the 
word.  Damn  me  !  Damn  me  !  " 


PART   THIRD 

THE   ISLAND 

CHAPTER    I 

SECRETS  the  church  had  in  those  old  days,  — 
unfathomable,  dark,  buried  ones.  The  cloister, 
in  its  holiness,  fostered,  perchance,  some  unholy 
things.  Here,  as  in  the  open  world,  doubtless  some 
who  rose  did  it  by  crushing  some  who  fell;  at  times 
he  who  rose  even  crushed  himself. 

At  Tizapan  one  may  see  the  marsh,  the  river,  the 
lake  and  river  roads.  He  may  behold,  even  in  the 
midst  of  change,  the  street,  the  house,  the  spot. 
These  are  not  all;  there  is  a  less  important  thing, 
—  a  jail  wherein  a  speechless  prisoner  was  confined 
on  that  same  day ;  in  which,  though  it  was  no  dun 
geon,  he  was  as  buried  as  certain  old  monastery 
secrets,  clerical  hopes,  crimes  of  the  cloister. 

The  prisons  of  these  small  towns  were  usually  of 
primitive  sort.  That  in  Chapala  even  now  is  of  but 
one  room.  The  Tizapan  jail  was,  at  the  time  of  the 
disaster  to  Vicente's  troops,  of  a  similar  simplicity. 
It  was  located  in  the  centre  of  the  town,  on  the 
main  plaza,  being  behind  Rodrigo  as  he  waited 
there  with  his  horsemen.  Its  floor  was  a  space  of 
hardened  earth  not  more  than  fifteen  feet  square. 
There  were  no  windows,  only  the  large  door  of  iron 
bars  that  led  into  the  plaza.  It  was  to  this  place,  as 


284  A   DREAM   OF  A    THRONE 

the  only  security  immediately  available,  that  the 
man  captured  at  Chapala  by  Bonavidas  had  been 
brought.  He  had  entered  with  the  same  oppressed, 
slavish  manner,  doggedly,  not  looking  at  his  captors. 
Had  Rodrigo  then  found  a  half  hour  to  question 
him,  he  might  have  decided  there  was  no  point  in 
his  being  held,  and  let  him  go.  But,  with  no  clear 
purpose,  for  he  had  no  clear  idea  of  him,  the  jcfe 
locked  him  up  till  more  important  matters  should 
be  done  with. 

On  entering,  the  creature  had  crept  to  the  far 
corner,  and  sat  down  on  the  floor,  after  which,  till 
four  o'clock  of  the  afternoon,  he  glared  at  the  door. 
When  Rodrigo's  men  had  drawn  themselves  up  in 
the  plaza  with  clicking  hoof  and  clinking  spur,  he 
had  not  moved,  being  like  the  insane  who  sit  in  a 
strained  silence.  When  there  had  come  the  sound 
of  a  disaster  and  a  panic  somewhat  distant,  and 
when  Rodrigo's  horsemen  had  galloped  away,  he 
still  had  not  moved,  only  glared  with  something 
more  nearly  like  fire  in  his  dull  eyes.  After  that 
there  were  many  sounds  from  many  directions. 
Hours  went  by  and  the  noon  came,  and  no  one 
approached  the  cell.  Its  inmate  was  buried  away 
from  all  that  action,  and  the  things  going  on  in  the 
world  were  only  a  distant  din  to  him.  Wherefore 
the  jail  was  like  the  material  form  of  certain  mental 
influences  which  had  made  the  world  only  a  distant 
din  these  long  years.  For  a  man's  mind  may  be  his 
surest  prison. 

At  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  he  slowly  removed 
his  sombrero  from  his  head  and  laid  it  on  the  floor. 
The  hat  was  the  color  of  jet.  His  hair  was  black 
and  tangled,  as  always,  and  long  enough  to  reach 
his  shoulders.  After  a  time  he  put  his  hand  into 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  285 

the  pocket  of  his  tight  black  trousers  and  drew  it 
out  empty;  then  he  sat  motionless  for  another 
space ;  after  which  he  put  his  hand  in  the  bosom  of 
his  shirt,  also  black,  drew  out  a  handkerchief  and 
untied  its  knotted  end,  displaying  a  few  coins  and 
a  white  pocket-knife.  He  tied  the  coins  in  the 
cloth  again,  and  put  the  little  bundle  back  in  his 
bosom,  retaining  the  knife  with  purposeless  manner. 
Later,  having  opened  the  blade,  he  marked  with  its 
point  on  the  dirt  floor.  The  afternoon  light  came 
abundantly  in  at  the  iron  door  and  the  marks  showed 
clear  in  the  earth.  He  made,  slowly,  the  figures 
1819,  and  sat  and  looked  at  them.  Then  he  made 
them  again  in  another  place,  and  smaller:  1819. 
He  made  them  a  fourth  and  a  fifth  time.  He  did  it 
laboriously,  completely  absorbed.  He  covered,  at 
last,  all  the  space  within  his  reach  with  those 
figures.  They  were  repeated  behind  and  before 
him,  to  his  right  and  left.  When  there  was  no 
more  room  without  moving,  he  ceased  for  a  time, 
and  went  over  the  rude  display  carefully,  lingering, 
glazed  of  eye,  at  every  number.  After  this  he 
slowly  arose  and  began  working  on  the  walls,  and  a 
space  of  a  yard  square  became  pretty  well  covered 
with  the  same  figures.  He  was  still  marking  1819 
in  the  adobes  when  some  one  came  to  the  iron 
door. 

He  did  not  so  much  as  turn.  He  stopped  mak 
ing  the  figures,  and  stood  still  with  his  hand  lifted 
against  the  wall.  The  door  was  opened,  the  new 
comer  entered,  and  the  door  was  closed.  The  mute 
still  stood  in  an  incomprehensible  immovability,  as 
though  stunned,  and  the  figure  behind  stopped  and 
gazed  at  the  numbers  on  the  wall  and  the  floor. 
Then  the  mute  began  again,  marking,  still  not  hav- 


286  A   DREAM    OF  A    THRONE 

ing  turned,    and  cut    1819  once  more  with    jagged 
irregularity. 

"Has  all  this  that  you  mark  a  meaning,  friend, 
and  is  it  this  that  makes  you  dumb,  or  are  you  only 
amusing  yourself?  "  said  the  man  behind. 

The  mute  turned  and  beheld  Rodrigo  standing  in 
the  last  light  of  the  day.  There  was  no  reply. 

"Come,  man,"  said  ihejefe,  throwing  off  a  certain 
sombreness  that  he  had  worn,  becoming  easier  of 
manner  and  advancing;  "whether  it  is  that  you  fear 
me,  or  that  you  have  for  some  reason  come  to  fear 
all  men,  or  that  you  are  acting  with  a  genius  that  I 
could  wish  to  transfer  to  a  land  where  there  are  good 
stages  —  I  do  not  know.  Frankly,  you  do  not  look 
like  a  spy  to  me,  nor  have  I  expected  to  gather 
much  out  of  you.  I  have  to  dispose  of  you  some 
how.  I  am  come  to  see  if  I  can  gratify  myself  by 
letting  you  go.  I  have  brought  ink  and  paper  and 
pen  that  you  may  write,  and  time  is  limited.  Now 
pen  it  out,  plainly,  and  give  me  your  deeds  and 
intentions." 

The  mute's  eyes  held  a  slumberous  fire  as  he  took 
the  paper,  which  fire  did  not  render  the  distorted 
countenance  less  hideous.  He  made,  not  without 
difficulty,  the  words: 

"Take  me  back  across  the  lake." 

"But  I  cannot  be  so  free  with  you,"  said  thejefe, 
"for  I  have  other  matters.  Write  me  something  of 
yourself." 

The  mute,  crouching  to  the  floor  in  an  attitude  of 
fear,  penned  out : 

"  He  will  starve.      He  was  ill." 

"This  same  thing  twice,"  said  Rodrigo.  "Who 
is  he?" 

The  mute  thought  long  and  stupidly,  and  then 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  287 

sighed,  —  that  kind  of  sigh  that  seems  beyond  all 
anguish,  to  which  a  groan  would  be  but  as  the 
expression  of  relief.  Then  he  wrote,  very  slowly: 

"The  worse  than  God.     The  stronger  than  Hell." 

"Thou  poor  fool,"  muttered  Rodrigo,  stooping, 
too,  and  fastening  his  eyes  on  the  other's,  concen 
trating  all  his  mind  to  read  him.  "There  is  no 
God  nor  any  hell  that  will  starve.  It  is  you, 
wrecked  heart,  and  I,  chip  in  the  sea,  that  starve. 
Come,  friend,  what  is  this  to  you?  What  will  it 
matter  to  you  if  he  starve? " 

Something  startling  swept  over  the  other's  face. 
He  wrote  again : 

"Then  I  would  follow  her.  I  would  do  it  then  — 
do  it.  I  would  walk  into  the  sky.  I  am  a  slave. 
Let  me  go.  Take  me  back  across  the  lake." 

"If  it  is  your  hallucination  that  some  one  binds 
you,  why  not  let  him  starve,  if  this  be  his  tendency? 
This  will  free  you." 

The  other  sank  into  the  dull  unreadableness  again. 
He  began  after  a  time  to  rewrite  the  sentence, 
"Take  me  back."  He  did  not  finish  the  last  word, 
becoming  abstracted,  and  presently  returned  once 
more  to  his  slow,  rapt  marking  of  figures.  They 
stood  out  on  the  paper  once,  twice,  thrice  —  1819. 

There  came  another  person  to  the  door.  Dusk 
was  coming  on.  The  plaza  was  shadowed  and  the 
jail  was  growing  dark. 

"Don  Rodrigo,"  said  a  suave  voice  without,  "this 
is  a  secluded  spot  for  a  little  conference.  Let  me 
in." 

Rodrigo  stood  up.  He  saw  that  the  man  outside 
was  Doroteo  Quiroz,  his  handsome  figure  having 
approached  noiselessly.  His  lips  were  pressed 
tightly  together,  and  his  moustaches  were  visible  in 


288  A  DREAM  OP  A    THRONE 

the  half  light  as  black  points.  The  two  looked  full 
at  one  another  for  a  moment ;  then  Rodrigo  walked 
gravely  to  the  door,  which  he  had  locked  after  enter 
ing,  and  let  the  visitor  in.  Quiroz's  manner  was 
full  of  the  Mexican  superficial  politeness  and 
elegance. 

"Do  me  the  favor,  then,  senor,"  said  he,  bowing 
with  his  fingers  on  his  breast,  "to  extend  me  the 
hand  of  a  brave  caballero  and  a  victorious  one." 

He  stretched  out  his  own,  and  with  scarcely  per 
ceptible  hesitation  Rodrigo  took  it,  somewhat 
coldly. 

"We  are  of  different  races,"  began  Quiroz. 
"  Good.  We  could  thus  combine  what  is  fair  and 
amiable  out  of  north  and  south.  You  know  me  for 
a  Mexican.  You  are  expecting  fair  words  and  no 
deeds.  Quiroz  is  a  gambler.  This  freely.  But  I 
am  going  to  give  you  a  proof  that  he  can  go  to  a 
point  without  wavering.  Hence,  listen  to  me:  for 
whatever  folly  there  is  in  me,  if  ever  in  my  life 
I  meant  what  I  said,  may  Mary  die  and  the  church 
be  proved  a  harlot  if  I  am  not  in  earnest  now.  I 
will  speak  in  the  presence  of  this  idiot  here,  for  I 
know  him.  He  has  been  a  crazy  shadow  on  the 
lake  for  many  a  month.  They  say  he  is  the-  ghost 
who  haunts  Prison  Island.  You  will  learn  nothing 
from  him  but  you  do  not  need  to." 

Rodrigo  stood  up  tall  and  still,  his  customary 
whiteness  of  face  slightly  more  marked.  He  kept  a 
somewhat  cold  gaze  on  Quiroz,  and  at  times  there 
was  the  bare  suggestion  of  a  sneer  on  his  lips,  but, 
withal,  his  manner  had  in  it  a  certain  proper  defer 
ence  and  attention. 

"  Go  on,"  said  he. 

"Don  Rodrigo,  you  are  a  fighter.     The  man  whc 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  289 

created  a  new  idea  and  carried  it  out  as  you  did,  is 
one  to  whom  I  am  pleased  to  doff  my  hat.  You  are 
no  dreamer.  You  are  a  man  of  action.  So  much 
for  my  views  of  your  ability.  Pardon  me  if  I  say 
that  you  as  yet  have  no  knowledge  of  Doroteo 
Quiroz.  Do  you  fancy  I  put  myself  on  a  plane 
above  my  deserts?  Far  from  it.  There  is  no 
veriest  prop  of  virtue  who  knows  more  surely  than 
do  I  that  the  word  to  be  applied  to  me  is  traitor  — 
unblushingly.  I  plead  guilty;  yet  I  would  have  you 
recall  that  there  are  more  kinds  of  traitors  than  one, 
and  a  treason  may  be  built  on  an  honest  foundation. 
Why  did  I  enter  Vicente's  scheme?  Because  I  am 
a  gambler.  I  pretend  to  be  nothing  else.  My  one 
unalterable  ambition  has  ever  been  to  gain  for  my 
self,  strictly  for  myself,  the  greatest  power  and  the 
richest  success  possible  to  me.  Vicente's  was  the 
biggest  game  at  hand.  I  had  no  more  than  entered 
it  when  I  saw  his  weakness.  For  he  dreams  too 
much.  This  I  know.  I  am  as  honest  as  truth  when 
I  say  that  I  believed  success  impossible  to  him. 
That  kind  of  nature  will  come  to  the  day  of  ruin 
sooner  or  later.  Well,  am  I  to  be  blamed  for  cold 
judgment?  No;  for  judgment  with  me  is  as  spon 
taneous  as  an  emotion.  You  can  call  a  man  mis 
taken  for  his  judgment  —  you  cannot  call  him 
criminal.  We  praise  constancy;  we  talk  much  of 
faith.  In  God's  name,  is  it  constancy  to  wreck  a 
previous  and  constant  course  by  clinging  to  that 
which  will  wreck  it  ?  Half  the  condemned  treachery 
in  the  world  is  constancy  to  an  idea  that  was  domi 
nant  before  the  thing  betrayed  was  born,  an  idea 
that  thus  had  the  precedence.  My  previous  ambi 
tions  would  brook  no  continuance  with  Vicente.  To 
wreck  him  a  few  weeks  or  months  before  his  in- 

J9 


290  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

evitable  wrecking  of  himself  was  but  to  make  less 
his  ruin.  In  this,  do  me  the  favor  to  observe,  I 
was  true  to  myself,  which  is  called  the  first  virtue. 

"Ay,  Quiroz  is  a  gambler,  but  the  gambler  is  tell 
ing  you  simply  a  mathematical  fact  when  he  says  that 
the  man  who  knows  me  thus,  who  docs  not  consider 
me  honest,  and  yet  perceives  whereto  I  am  indomita 
bly  constant,  can  steer  his  course  with  mine  with  the 
safety  of  faith.  Don  Rodrigo,  a  revolt  like  this  is 
not  the  measure  of  my  ambition.  Mexico  is  totter 
ing.  Santa  Anna  has  left  the  capital  sapped  of  its 
powers  and  is  marching  to  Taylor  and  a  sure  defeat. 
Meanwhile  I  am  here  with  more  than  a  thousand 
horsemen  at  my  back.  For  what  have  you  done? 
You  captured  the  leader  and  some  forty  others,  dead 
and  living.  The  rest  fled.  When  a  path  could  be 
cut  through  the  street,  your  lieutenants  pursued  the 
fugitives.  They  captured  scarcely  a  dozen.  The 
rest  are  scattered.  But  you  know  as  well  as  I  that 
I  have  means  of  gathering  them  up.  They  will 
come  when  I  call.  You,  Don  Rodrigo,  are  at  the 
head  of  two  hundred.  Listen.  I  have  no  desire  to 
try  issues  with  a  man  like  you.  I  would  rather  we 
try  them  together.  We  are  here  on  the  lake's 
southern  side.  Mexico  City  is  not  so  very  far  to 
the  southeast.  It  is  left  without  an  army.  It  is 
ever  in  a  weakened  state  of  discord.  Come;  the 
time  is  ripe.  We  gather  recruits  on  the  way;  for  I 
know  the  people.  He  who  marches  into  the  capital 
now  with  two  thousand  men  is  its  master.  I  tell 
you  again  Taylor  will  defeat  Santa  Anna.  The 
Americans  will  come  on.  We  cannot  fight  them ; 
we  shall  not  try.  They  must  then  deal  with  him 
who  holds  the  government.  The  United  States 
will  not  dare  annex  the  country.  She  has  too  many 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  291 

troubles  of  her  own.  I  have  studied  this  matter 
long  since.  She  will  likely  rob  us  of  some  of  our 
northern  provinces.  Well,  who  remains  with  the 
rest  ? " 

He  paused;  he  lifted  a  steady  hand  and  drew  out 
the  point  of  his  moustache.  Then  an  audacious 
smile  played  on  his  features.  Rodrigo  said  noth 
ing.  He  held  his  eyes  unmoved  and  stared  straight 
into  those  of  Quiroz.  The  shadow  of  disdain  was 
still  on  his  lips,  and  his  face  wore  something  of 
hauteur. 

"  Don  Rodrigo,  you  are  a  man  of  deeds,  and  you 
love  power.  That  leader  who  marches  in  while  the 
army  is  away  —  to  him  shall  the  power  be." 

Rodrigo  was  silent  for  some  moments. 

"Quiroz,"  said  he,  coldly,  "for  what  you  have 
done  the  government  thanks  you.  I  myself  cannot 
be  insincere  enough  to  do  so,  nor  to  agree  with  you, 
nor  to  act  with  you;  for  I  find  you  most  eminent  in 
ability  to  do  that  thing  which  the  Greeks  called 
making  the  worse  appear  the  better  reason." 

With  this  Rodrigo  turned  somewhat  stiffly  away, 
as  though  to  continue  his  conversation  with  the 
mute,  who  had  not  moved.  If  there  was  any  resent 
ment  in  Doroteo  the  gloom  did  not  permit  that  it 
be  visible  on  his  face.  He  was  too  much  Quiroz  to 
show  it  in  words. 

"This  is  final?"  said  he. 

"This  is  final,"  replied  Rodrigo. 

"Then  do  me  the  favor,"  said  Quiroz,  with  his 
teeth  shut  and  a  smile  glittering  on  his  face,  "to 
offer  me,  in  parting,  the  hand  of  a  gentleman." 

Rodrigo  offered  it. 

"Excellent  to  be  frank,"  said  Quiroz.  "Well 
to  go  straight  to  all  points.  And  in  leaving  (in 


292  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

which,"  and  he  gripped  the  other's  hand  with 
extreme  force,  "  my  purpose  is  to  gather  up  my 
troops),  —  in  leaving,  allow  me  to  express  rather  a 
strengthened  than  a  diminished  faith  in  your  abili 
ties,  senor.  Adios.  Hasta  la  vista!  I  am  sorry 
that  I  can  make  no  use  of  the  esteemed  gratitude  of 
the  government." 

"Adios"  said  the/*/*. 

This  stilted  conversation  being  finished,  Doroteo 
went  out.  If  there  had  been,  in  his  reference  to 
his  troops,  any  hint  of  a  threat,  he  was  not  the  man 
to  have  let  it  appear  in  his  tone  or  his  face.  What 
ever  gall  was  in  him  as  he  departed,  the  elegant 
Quiroz,  the  deceiver,  would  not  speak  it  out,  even 
by  a  word,  even  in  the  midst  of  his  bitterest  resent 
ment.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  highest 
lustre  of  his  scheme  faded  with  this  failure.  But 
he  bowed  himself  out  with  grace  and  went  his  feline 
way.  Outside,  however,  could  one  have  seen  his 
face  he  would  have  noted  keen  hate  and  steely 
desperation  in  it.  He  was  resolved  that,  despite 
all  obstacles,  the  scattered  force  that  had  been 
Vicente's  should  at  once  be  his. 

Referring  once  more  to  the  threat  that  the  refer 
ence  to  troops  might  have  contained  —  that  reference 
hung  in  Rodrigo's  mind  when  Quiroz  was  gone. 
He  stood  in  the  almost  dark  jail,  staring  into  the 
darkness.  He  meditated  thus  for  some  minutes, 
with  something  of  a  turmoil  under  the  calm  that  sat 
on  his  face.  He  must  not  risk  losing  his  advan 
tage.  He  had  that  instinctive  tenacity  which  is  a 
characteristic  of  his  people;  this,  added  to  a  natural 
determination,  completely  to  fulfil  the  task  intrusted 
to  him. 

"  There  is  no  prison  in  Guadalajara  that  is  suffi- 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  293 

ciently  safe,"  he  mused.  "The  strongest  was 
wrecked  in  the  last  revolution.  The  other  is  yet 
unfinished.  That  nest  of  troubles  is  no  place  for 
him.  Even  the  journey  thither  might  be  disastrous, 
for  it  would  be  through  a  country  of  his  allies." 

He  gazed  yet  other  minutes  into  the  darkness. 
He  went  out  then,  procured  a  candle  and  matches, 
and  returned.  He  entered,  locked  the  door,  and  lit 
the  candle.  The  mute  was  still  crouched  in  the 
darkest  corner,  his  sombrero  again  on  his  head, 
pulled  down  far  over  his  face.  Only  the  chin  and 
the  scar  were  visible  when  the  match  was  touched 
to  the  candle.  He  held  the  paper  in  his  hand  as 
though  he  had  been  staring  at  it  in  the  dark. 
Rodrigo  came  and  kneeled  down  before  him,  putting 
the  candle  on  the  earthen  floor.  He  saw,  too,  that 
the  pen  and  the  ink  were  at  hand. 

"  You  wish  to  be  free,"  said  Rodrigo,  in  a  low  tone. 

There  was  no  reply,  but  the  man  lifted  his  face 
and  looked  at  him. 

"  You  wish  to  be  free,  is  it  not  so  ?  "  said  Rodrigo. 

The  mute  took  the  pen  and  wrote  as  before : 

"Take  me  across  the  lake." 

"  Listen,"  was  the  reply.  "  I  will  take  you  across 
the  lake.  I  will  do  it  to-night.  We  will  start  at 
once,  and  when  we  arrive  at  the  opposite  shore  you 
shall  be  free.  All  this  if  you  can  do  one  thing  for 
me." 

The  figure  before  him  distorted  the  scar  into 
something  that  might  have  been  a  smile,  horrifying 
as  it  was. 

"  Do  you  know  an  island  between  here  and  Mescala 
which  they  call  Prison  Island?" 

The  mute  was  as  still  as  stone,  with  a  dead  color 
on  fris  face. 


294  A   DREAM   OF  A    TIfKONE 

"An  island,"  continued  Rodrigo,  "whereon  there 
are  ruins  of  great  buildings  and  nothing  else.  Come 
—  you  are  a  kind  of  bat  on  the  lake;  do  you  know 
it?" 

"Yes,"  wrote  the  mute,  his  hand  shaking. 

"  Have  you  been  there  ?  " 

There  was  no  reply,  only  glassy  eyes  and  the 
scar. 

"Man,"  said  Rodrigo,  whispering,  and  with 
sternness,  "do  you  want  to  be  locked  in  a  blacker 
prison  than  this  and  to  stay  there?  You  know  this 
island;  I  have  heard  that  you  do.  Answer  me 
quickly  and  plainly  if  you  want  freedom  or  mercy." 

"I  know  it,"  wrote  the  other  in  mute  fear.  "I 
have  been  there." 

"  Do  you  know  its  coasts  and  whether  there  is  a 
cove  that  might  serve  as  a  harbor?  Could  you  steer 
a  canoa  into  safety  at  that  island,  avoiding  the 
rocks,  landing  us  without  danger,  even  in  the  night 
and  with  waves?" 

With  that  rock-like  silence  again  his  only  expres 
sion  of  emotion,  the  other,  after  a  long  time  of  dull 
pondering,  wrote: 

"I  know  it." 

"You  could  do  it  in  safety?" 

"Yes." 

"Friend,"  said  the  jefe,  "let  me  give  you  full 
warning.  I  am  your  comrade  if  you  treat  me  well. 
Do  as  I  wish  and  I  shall  send  you  on  to  the  opposite 
shore,  and  you  shall  be  free.  If  you  fail  me  or 
deceive  me,  I  am  more  likely  to  kill  you  than  to  let 
you  live.  Mark  me.  I,  too,  know  the  location  of 
the  island.  Any  attempt  to  steer  us  away  is  use 
less.  I,  too,  have  been  there,  but  I  approached 
from  the  other  side,  and  I  have  no  knowledge  of 


A   DREAM   OF  A    THRONE  295 

the  rocks  and  the  shore.  So  I  take  you  for  the 
landing.  Get  me  safe  on  that  island  and  you  are 
free.  If  you  wreck  me  —  well,  I  can  swim  and 
shall  have  as  good  a  chance  as  you.  Now  I  am 
going  to  trust  you.  I  do  not  believe  you  will  play 
me  false.  Freedom  it  is,  my  man.  Will  you  go?  " 

"When?"  wrote  the  other,  his  hand  shaking 
again. 

"Now." 

The  distortion  of  the  mute's  visage  was  then 
unintelligible.  It  may  have  meant  mad  delight  —  it 
may  have  meant  abject  terror.  He  was  able  to 
write,  "Yes,"  and  Rodrigo  arose  and  left  him  with 
the  candle;  and  the  slow  waving  flame  with  its 
blue  rings  round  it  cast  light  on  the  creature's  face 
and  over  his  body,  and  displayed  an  agitation  such 
that  it  must  have  struck  awe  in  any  that  saw  it. 

Scarcely  half  an  hour  went  by  before  there  came 
steps  again  at  the  door.  It  was  unlocked,  and 
Bonavidas  and  another  entered. 

"Come  on,"  said  Bonavidas,  taking  the  mute's 
arm  and  compelling  him  to  arise.  "  Save  us !  he  is 
stiff  as  a  corpse.  Brace  up  —  this  is  no  march  to 
the  grave,  though  we  are  both  good  candidates  for 
it.  I  dare  say  the  worm  that  has  you  at  last,  my 
stiff  prisoner,  will  have  feasted  on  me  first;  but  he 
will  still  be  far  from  fat  —  ha !  ha  !  Bitter  will  have 
been  his  first  disappointment,  and,  if  I  am  a  judge 
of  fowl,  as  bitter  will  be  the  next — for  the  arm  of 
this  skeleton  is  thin." 

His  companion  shuddered  a  little  and  wrapped  a 
purple  blanket  round  him,  covering  the  half  of  his 
face.  The  three  went  out.  There  was  not  much 
stir,  and  few  people  were  in  the  plaza.  The 
wounded  and  the  excitement  were  farther  back  in 


296  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

that  quarter  of  the  town  nearest  the  mountains. 
Kyed  by  only  a  few  passers-by  the  three  entered  the 
street  to  the  river.  Farther  ahead  in  its  gloom, 
faintly  lit  by  an  oil  street  lamp,  could  be  seen  a 
squad  of  soldiers  with  a  prisoner  in  their  midst, 
moving  in  the  same  direction.  Whereas  the  mute 
went  crouchingly,  with  face  buried  under  his  hat, 
that  other  prisoner  walked  with  something  of  state- 
liness.  Those  who  saw  his  face  on  that  march  said 
it  was  not  like  the  dark  faces  of  Mexico  —  one  would 
have  thought  he  came  from  some  other  land  —  that 
his  carriage  was  marked  by  a  gentle  pride,  and  his 
eyes  were  so  deep  and  so  strangely  sad  that  a  child, 
looking  on  them,  wept  and  ran  away.  There  was  a 
wound,  too,  on  one  temple,  and  his  left  shoulder 
and  arm  were  bandaged  and  carried  stiffly. 

It  was  thus  it  chanced  that  Rodrigo,  Vicente,  the 
mute,  Bonavidas,  and  some  twenty  soldiers,  met 
that  night  on  the  river's  bank,  where  the  marshes 
stretched  out  into  darkness  and  the  waves  could  be 
faintly  heard.  The  wind  was  from  a  little  west  of 
south ;  not  the  best  for  the  journey,  but,  if  it  should 
last  sufficiently  long,  serviceable.  Some  of  the 
canoas  owners  had  sailed  away;  but  haste  is  not  a 
characteristic  of  the  land,  and  there  were  novel 
things  in  Tizapan  to  see.  More  than  half  of  the 
craft  that  had  threaded  their  way  to  the  landing  in 
the  early  morning  were  still  there.  The  party  that 
now  arrived  selected  two  of  the  best. 

The  huts  were  deserted.  The  town  lay  yonder, 
black  and  silent;  the  night  was  a  starry  one.  Cer 
tain  townspeople,  few  in  number,  came  stealthily 
after  the  party  of  soldiers  to  see,  and  stood  in  the 
gloom  at  a  little  distance  from  the  river.  With 
something  more  nearly  like  reverence  than  author- 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  297 

ity,  for  he  could  not  control  his  sentiments  nor  the 
moving  of  his  heart  which  a  certain  majesty  of 
bearing  in  his  prisoner  had  caused,  Rodrigo  ordered 
Vicente  into  the  second  of  the  two  boats  and 
manned  that  vessel  with  half  his  twenty  men.  Some 
weapons  and  ammunition  were  put  therein  also.  He 
himself  went  to  the  canoa  in  front.  He  was  silent, 
chilled.  He  could  not  go  in  the  same  vessel  with 
his  captive ;  it  would  take,  said  he,  a  vaster  strength 
than  he  had.  Bonavidas  was  left  in  control  of  that 
rear  ship. 

The  mute  and  certain  other  weapons  and  ammuni 
tions,  together  with  stores  of  provisions,  were  put 
in  the  forward  boat,  which  was  manned  by  the  other 
soldiers.  All  being  aboard,  the  poling  was  silently 
begun,  and  the  dark,  winding  course  down  the  river 
between  the  walls  of  reeds  was  entered  upon. 

The  few  townspeople  turned  back  to  the  things  of 
unhappy  interest  in  the  town,  where  the  rest  of  the 
jefe  s  men,  under  a  trusted  soldier  chosen  for  that 
place,  guarded  some  less  important  prisoners  in  a 
great  adobe  hall  once  used  as  a  storehouse  for  golden 
fruit,  product  of  summer  suns  and  mountain  torrents 
and  the  free  air  and  the  free  soil  of  a  land  of  curious 
liberty.  The  destination  of  the  vessels  was  known 
only  to  those  in  them  and  to  some  of  the  soldiers  be 
hind.  The  secret  was  locked  and  the  guide  was 
mute.  There  were  adequate  instructions  left,  also, 
concerning  immediate  notification  of  any  new  events, 
and  bonfire  signals  explained  and  well  remembered. 
In  the  stern  of  his  ship  the  jefe  stood,  not  rejoicing 
over  victory,  not  happy  with  success.  There  was 
the  picture  in  ihzjefes  mind  of  a  small  woman  with 
strange  hair  and  a  face  sorrowful  as  he  had  last  seen 
it  in  the  improvised  hospital,  where  they  revived 


'  298  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

her    brother,    bandaged    his   wounds,    and    let    her 
come  in. 

It  was  well  that,  the  last  vessel  being  some  twenty 
yards  down  stream,  the  jcfcs  vision  was  only  a 
vision  and  not  the  woman  herself.  There  had  crept 
down  to  the  bank,  after  those  other  townspeople,  a 
slight  figure  unseen  by  the  others.  The  others 
were  gone  when  she  ran  silently  to  the  landing  and 
saw  the  two  vessels,  indistinguishable  bulks  of 
gloom,  going  away  yonder  in  the  reeds,  and  heard 
the  soft,  soft  plash  of  the  poles  in  muddy  water. 
She  wanted  to  cry  out,  but  could  not.  She  sank 
down,  not  burying  her  face,  but  gazing  out  over  the 
flat  marsh  and  the  unseen  lake.  She  sat  there  some 
long  hours  after  every  sound  had  ceased,  and  the 
silence  was  like  death. 


CHAPTER    II 

IF,  at  the  bottom  of  the  long  scale  of  human  im- 
happiness,  there  be  an  absolute  misery  like  the 
theoretical  absolute  zero  of  the  thermometer,  the 
great  Fortino  was  at  that  degree,  a  point  of  dead, 
cold  despair,  where  there  is  no  motion,  which  motion 
would  be  heat,  heat  of  anger,  or  hope,  or  thrilling 
recollection,  a  point  whereat  the  unimaginable  de 
pression  is  like  the  frigidity  that  cannot  be  felt, 
that  would  freeze  the  very  nucleus  of  the  first  cell 
that  should  begin  to  stir  into  thought  or  emotion, 
—  a  point,  however,  from  which  reaction  is  not  alto 
gether  impossible. 

Toward  noon  of  the  day  of  the  disaster,  he  had 
trod  across  the  brick  pavement  of  the  patio  t  where 
the  round  ball  of  his  great  shadow  mingled  with  the 
flecking  shadows  of  trees.  He  had  entered  the  rear 
court  through  the  remnant  of  the  door  he  had  shat 
tered,  and  being  in  that  barer  and  drearier  space, 
with  the  anvil  and  white  ashes  of  a  charcoal  fire  not 
far  distant,  he  had  sat  himself  down  on  the  ground 
by  the  stables  and  had  stayed  there.  When  Doroteo 
had  come  and  begged  that  the  silent  monster  volun 
teer  some  information  as  to  the  key  of  the  room 
wherein  the  girls  were  locked,  he  had  not  appeared 
to  respond  even  in  thought.  His  face  assumed  the 
beginnings  of  a  look  of  scorn  that  he  should  be 
assaulted  with  details  at  a  time  like  this.  The 
scorn  became  frozen  and  went  out,  and  there  was 


300  A    DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

nothing  more  to  be  drawn  from  him.  As  the  key 
had  been  hurled  in  some  unknown  direction  through 
the  high  clear  air  of  that  memorable  morning,  the 
door  to  which  it  had  belonged  was  at  length  broken 
open  by  Doroteo  and  his  mozo,  during  which  act 
Fortino  was  not  present,  being  still  sitting  by  the 
stables;  nor  did  he  know  or  care  when  the  good 
Dona  Manuela,  trembling  like  a  reed  in  a  wind, 
expended  her  motherly  care  on  her  of  the  auburn 
locks  and  brought  the  girl  to. 

There  was  little  of  any  sort  of  movement  during 
that  day  in  the  rear  court  of  stables.  Doroteo 
passed  through  it  several  times,  quick,  absorbed. 
The  mozo  came  and  fed  some  animals  and  said  some 
thing  to  Fortino,  whom  he  eyed  with  curiosity.  But 
F*ortino  did  not  reply.  Then,  for  hours,  there  was 
nothing  but  the  horses,  the  adobes,  the  bare  earth, 
the  anvil  and  the  brasero  over  which  the  sun  poured 
its  yellow  autumn  flood.  There,  too,  was  directed 
the  great  man's  gaze.  The  anvil's  shadow  grew 
longer  as  the  hours  went  by,  the  light  about  it  be 
came  yellower,  and  at  length  the  shadows  of  western 
objects  beyond  came  and  took  away  the  yellow. 
The  dusk  came  on.  But  Fortino  did  not  cease  to 
stare  at  that  mass  of  iron  and  the  chalky  pile  of 
ashes,  which  last  an  evening  breeze  lifted  and  made 
white  dust.  They  came  and  begged  him  to  eat; 
but  he  would  not.  Dona  Manuela  came  likewise, 
at  length  having  the  servants  bring  dishes  and  set 
them  before  him.  They  remained  untouched.  So 
the  lady  sighed,  and,  with  her  head  turned  looking 
at  Fortino,  she  and  the  sky-blue  dress  and  the  gray 
hair  went  back  into  the  front  patio. 

It  grew  dark,  and  the  night  wind  swirled  among 
the  stables.  The  early  stars  gave  way  to  later  ones. 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  301 

Odd  birds,  common  in  these  parts,  flew  silently 
overhead  and  hissed  short,  quick,  startling  hisses  at 
him  out  of  the  night,  as  though  to  warn  him  or  to 
awaken  him  or  to  make  uncanny  jests  at  him.  At 
some  time  after  midnight  he  rolled  over  heavily  and 
sunk  into  a  sleep  that,  for  its  broken  snorings  and 
its  nightmares,  was  a  thing  dreadful  to  hear.  When, 
in  the  early  morning,  the  mozo  came  to  feed  the 
horses,  Fortino  was  again  sitting  erect.  Later  there 
was  a  second  attempt  to  get  him  to  eat,  as  fruitless 
as  the  first.  In  this  Dona  Manuela  again  partici 
pated,  full  of  anxiety  for  the  poor  man's  mind, 
though  not  well  comprehending  what  was  the  matter 
with  him. 

"Alas!  alas!"  cried  she  at  length,  in  despair, 
"this  good,  large  man  will  starve!" 

Anastasio  was  one  of  those  who  heard  this  remark. 
Neither  he  nor  Fortino  had  been  sought  after  by 
Vicente's  captors,  Quiroz  having  left  the  impression 
that  the  fishermen  were  a  part  of  the  treason.  The 
philosopher  had  but  just  now  entered  by  the  rear 
alley,  and  the  early  morning  beams  fell  on  his  long 
body  and  showed  his  languid  calmness.  He  had  not 
been  seen  here  till  now  since  he  rode  away  so 
swiftly,  more  than  a  full  day  previous.  He  came 
sauntering  in  much  as  he  sauntered  anywhere  else. 
He  stood  and  gazed  at  the  inert  Fortino  in  thought 
ful  mood. 

"No,  senora,"  said  Anastasio.  "He  will  not 
starve.  I  should  say  two  months  from  to-day,  if  he 
be  still  here,  there  may  be  call  for  alarm." 

"Oh!  but  senor!"  cried  the  anxious  lady  with 
much  earnestness,  "  he  has  eaten  nothing  for  twenty- 
four  hours ! " 

"  Senora,  have  you,  then,  not  heard  of  the  camels? 


3o2  A   DREAM   OF  A    TJ1KOM: 

They  say  a  camel  will  live  many  days  off  his  humps. 
And  whereas  he  does  well  on  two,  Fortino  has  an 
infinite  number;  and  better  yet,  the  other  beast 
contends  with  the  drawback  that  the  space  between 
the  two  is  vacant.  Fortino  has  this  advantage,  that 
all  the  spaces  between  his  many  are  filled  up,  so 
that  his  figure  presents  a  smooth  and  reassuring 
surface.  I  should  say  there  is  nutriment  enough  in 
Fortino  to  last  two  moons." 

The  lady  finally  withdrew,  she  and  the  servants 
carrying  the  untouched  dishes,  and  Anastasio  sat 
down  in  front  of  the  giant. 

"Bravery  is  a  good  thing,"  said  he,  and  paused, 
calmly  meeting  Fortino's  lurid  gaze  with  his  own. 
He  made  his  remarks  at  a  considerable  distance 
from  each  other,  and  in  the  nature  of  speculations. 
"  Faith,  too,  works  what  I  should  call  —  wonders. 
To  wade  into  the  sea,  I  will  be  sworn,  is  more 
glorious  than  it  is  wet,  which  is  saying  much. 
Fortino,  if  you  do  not  take  something  you  will  be 
eating  your  bodily  ability.  Hut  if  he  who  works  not 
shall  not  eat,  he  who  eats  not  need  not  work,  where 
in  there  is  comfort.  I  have  thought  many  a  time, 
which  is  best,  glory  or  idleness?  But  I  didn't 
know  anything  about  the  former,  so  I  stuck  to  the 
other,  being  aware  of  its  good  points.  Yesterday 
was  a  fine  day.  You  should  have  seen  the  lake  on 
yesterday  and  heard  the  note  of  the  dove.  The 
lake  sparkled,  and  the  dove,  she  sang." 

Fortino  rolled  heavily  into  a  slightly  different 
position,  gazing  at  the  anvil,  and  something  like  a 
smothered  groan  was  in  him. 

"  Our  comrade  in  bravery,"  said  Anastasio,  "  where 
is  he?  Francisco  is  —  " 

There  was  a  cautious  creaking   at   the  rear  door 


A    DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  303 

that  led  into  the  alley,  and  the  door  was  slightly 
opened.  A  head  came  through,  showing  a  gaunt 
face  of  stealth  and  terror,  and  eyes  like  dollars. 

"Come  in,"  drawled  Anastasio  with  whining  im 
patience,  — " come  in,  brother;  there  is  no  cavalry 
here." 

Francisco  cautiously  closed  the  door  behind  him, 
and,  looking  ever  to  all  sides,  as  though  in  fear  of 
treachery,  crept  up  and  sat  down. 

"I  am  afraid  of  no  cavalry,"  said  he,  with  a  faint 
attempt  at  bluster.  "  I — I — oh,  friends !  where  is 
the  enemy ! " 

"  Can  it,  then,  be  that  you  were  out  of  the  fight  ? 
This  accounts  for  the  misfortune." 

"If  every  man  had  had  my  discretion,  friend," 
cried  Francisco,  "there  would  have  been  no  misfor 
tune.  I  know  when  to  make  a  retreat  with  dignity. 
There  is  one  thing  about  me,  if  I  am  a  fisherman  — 
I  learn  the  art  of  war  rapidly." 

"At  a  gallop,"  said  the  long  one.  "Fortino, 
awake,  till  I  give  you  the  history  of  this  man  of 
valor.  When  we  came  on  to  the  town,  I  having 
delivered  my  message  (with  a  faith,  Fortino,  speak 
ing  of  faith,  that  classed  me  immediately  with 
angels),  I  having  delivered  it,  had  trouble  with  my 
horse.  Francisco  was  riding  near  the  front.  It  was 
convenient,  when  he  had  learned  of  the  enemy 
ahead,  for  Francisco  suddenly  to  conceive  and  bear 
a  prodigy  of  brotherly  love,  which  led  him  to  drop 
behind  to  assist  me.  And  the  farther  behind  we 
lagged,  beating  my  steed,  the  kindlier  was  Fran 
cisco.  When  at  last  my  horse  stopped  I  was  un 
gentle  enough  to  curse  this  brother,  and  he  went 
on.  He  was  the  last  member  of  the  cavalry  when 
it  entered  the  street.  From  a  long  distance  away 


304  A  DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

on  the  lake  road  I  saw  him  lumbering  in  last,  and 
his  speed  was  not  high.  He  was  out  of  my  sight  in 
the  town  something  less  than  one  minute.  Ah  —  he 
learned  the  art  of  war  in  that  space  of  time.  Fran 
cisco  is  peculiarly  quick  at  learning.  I  saw  him 
issue,  having  learned  the  art,  like  a  rocket  from  a 
newly  blessed  house,  and  there  was  a  blue  vapor 
arising  from  him  as  he  came  on.  The  rapidity  of 
his  learning  increased  as  he  advanced;  his  horse's 
nose  pierced  air  like  the  point  of  a  bullet.  He 
wheeled  into  the  lake  road  a  full  half  mile  ahead  of 
the  next  fugitive,  and  bore  down  on  me  so  that  I 
had  barely  time  to  pull  a  little  to  one  side.  I  heard 
him  crying  out  to  me  before  he  came  near:  'Fly! 
Fly!'  Then  he  swept  by  with  a  wind  that  raised 
my  sombrero  and  blew  my  hair  across  my  cheek, 
shrieking:  'I  will  —  save  —  my  —  honor!'  I  per 
ceived  then  that  the  rest  were  coming,  and,  Fran 
cisco  having  become  a  little  smoke  in  the  distance, 
and  the  others  having  likewise  fled  past  me  in  con 
fusion,  I  said  to  myself,  sitting  meditating  on  my 
steed,  '  There  is  agitation  in  the  town.'  Finding  at 
length  that  the  horse  would  no  longer  balk,  but 
would  go  on  at  a  slow  gait,  '  Si,'  said  I  to  myself, 
'  I  will  go  in  where  the  agitation  is.'  When  I  was 
on  the  point  of  entering  the  town  I  saw  that  sickly 
man  that  is  with  \.\\zjcfe  dashing  out  with  troops  in 
pursuit.  I  was  feeling  tired  at  that  time,  and  in 
need  of  quiet.  So  I  drew  up  at  the  roadside  and 
sat  with  both  my  pistols  aimed  at  the  comers  and 
resting  easily  on  the  saddle's  pommel;  and  they 
dared  not  touch  me,  I  did  fill  them  so  with  dread. 
Said  the  sickly  one  as  he  went  by  on  a  gallop,  '  Put 
up  your  guns,  child,  there  are  bigger  birds  than 
you! '  '  Si,'  said  I,  '  but  they  fly  high.  Francisco, 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  305 

for  one,  flies  exceeding  high.'  When  they  were 
gone,  and  I  came  on  in  and  saw  the  scene  of  the 
trouble,  and  thought  again  of  the  fugitives,  there  was 
one  point  that  was  a  great  comfort  to  me.  '  There  is 
one  thing  they  will  never  get,'  said  I,  pleased. 
'They  will  never  catch  Francisco's  honor.'' 

"  I  tell  you,  idiot,  it  was  my  discretion  that  saved 
me.  Fly?  Did  not  they  all  fly?  That  there  was 
some  terrible  thing  ahead  I  knew,  and  I  saved  my 
abilities  for  another  time.  I  was  cool,  I  was  calcu 
lating.  There  are  times,  fool,  when  it  is  best  to  be 
wise !" 

Francisco  was  recovering  himself,  and  he  uttered 
this  principle  with  a  great  gesture. 

"  And  wherein  did  I  next  show  wisdom  ?  "  he  con 
tinued.  "  Listen,  you  who  were  two  miles  from  the 
fight.  As  soon  as  I  was  round  the  first  point  of 
rocks  toward  Jiquilpan,  my  horse  stumbled  and 
threw  me.  The  rest  caught  up  with  me  and  passed 
and  scattered  into  the  mountains,  or  went  on. 
Then  I  heard  the  enemy  coming.  So  I  beat  my 
horse  away,  and  he  went  off  crazy  toward  Jiquilpan 
to  distract  attention  from  me  who  remained  behind. 
This  is  a  science  called  in  war,  strategy.  It  is  by 
strategy  that  great  things  are  done  in  war,  and  by 
strategy  that  great  men  occupy  their  minds.  And 
not  everybody,  let  me  tell  you,  senores,  has  mind 
enough  so  that  strategy  can  occupy  it ;  no,  senores. 
It  was  by  strategy  that  the  big  fight  at  Hannibal 
was  won,  with  the  rings.  I  have  read  history  and 
I  know  how  to  employ  principles.  So  the  horse 
went  galloping  off  to  distract  attention.  The  dis 
tracting  attention  is  one  of  the  leading  things  in 
strategy.  Next  I  leap  straight  into  the  lake,  and 
dive.  There  were  rocks  there,  and  I  dived  to  the 

20 


306  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

other  side  of  them.  This  again  was  good  strategy. 
If  I  had  stayed  this  side  of  the  rocks  I  might  have 
had  to  come  up  for  breath  at  the  wrong  time.  Many 
great  strategies  have  been  thus  ruined.  When  the 
enemy  was  gone  I  came  out  on  the  bank.  I  confess  I 
was  sore  from  scraping  myself  on  a  boulder.  Hence, 
I  limped  into  the  mountains,  and  lay  down  and  hid, 
and  I  saw  the  enemy  come  back.  And,  owing  to 
my  strategy,  he  did  not  have  me.  I  am  not  any  fool, 
brothers.  At  night  I  decided  that  the  heroic  thing 
was  to  come  back.  And  I  have  limped  some  three 
miles  during  the  night.  I  was  hungry.  I  slept  a 
little  outside  the  town  and  have  limped  in  here.  I 
did  it  boldly  —  I  was  not  terrified.  I  walked  in  like 
a  lion,  senores." 

"  You  appeared  so,  indeed,"  said  Anastasio. 

Fortino  had  no  more  than  barely  heard,  if  indeed 
he  had  done  so  much.  He  was  dumb. 

"  There  are  some  ideas  about  yesterday,"  said 
Anastasio,  "  that  confuse  me." 

No  one  replied  and  the  three  were  as  though 
thinking. 

"  St"  continued  the  long  one,  "  there  are  things 
that  mix  me." 

"You  did  not  mix  in  the  things,  ha!  ha!  "  broke 
out  Francisco  with  the  knowledge  of  a  fine  bit  of 
humor. 

"  My  horse  had  not  learned  the  art  of  war,"  was 
the  chilly  response.  "  He  kept  my  discretion  to  the 
rear,  instead  of  whizzing  there  with  it  afterward.  Si, 
there  are  matters  of  directions,  messages,  and  deeds, 
that  are  not  clear.  If  this  great  body  here  could 
speak  he  might  tell  me  why  he  blocked  the  way.  But 
never  mind,  we  will  lay  it  on  to  the  Holy  Virgin." 

The  great  body  revolved  slightly,  but  ponderously, 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  307 

and  Fortino's  eyes,  inflamed  and  swelled,  looked  out 
of  Fortino's  unshaven  face  at  Anastasio  like  the  eyes 
of  a  gorgon. 

"  When  Doroteo  gave  me  my  message,"  said  Anas 
tasio  meditatively,  "  he  made  no  mention  of  anything 
wrong  with  Fortino.  Was  it,  Fortino,  that  you  had 
slept  in  the  night  air?  I  left  you  slumbering  like 
a  babe.  Were  you  dreaming,  even  then,  of  that 
treason?  " 

A  rage  like  a  burning  furnace  was  suddenly  born 
in  the  giant.  He  grew  inconceivably  hot.  He  arose 
with  an  awful  majesty.  He  stamped  the  ground  and 
strode  to  and  fro  before  his  wondering  comrades. 

"  Treason !  Treason !  "  he  growled  like  some  wild 
beast.  "  Who  talks  of  treason  !  Who  dares  call  me 
traitor !  What  message  did  you  carry,  blot  on 
earth?"  He  strode  nearer  and  shook  his  huge  fist 
in  the  face  of  his  unmoved  torturer.  "  Stand  up  and 
give  me  your  own  perfidy.  What  message,  worm ! 
worm !  did  you,  then,  carry  away  when  you  left  me 
asleep  in  my  untouched  honesty !  " 

"  Make  it  plain  —  plain  say  I,"  broke  in  Francisco. 
"  It  has  puzzled  me  too.  But  I  have  not  learned 
even  what  happened.  Come  at  it,  friends;  his  de 
mand,  Anastasio,  is  just.  Was  it  some  strategy?  " 

"What  was  it?"  repeated  Anastasio,  on  whose 
acute  mind  much  of  the  true  situation  had  long 
since  dawned.  He  spoke  with  a  labored  innocence. 
"It  was  the  message  Quiroz  gave  me  —  what  else? 
And  I,  too,  carried  it  away  in  my  untouched  honesty. 
I  have  already  said  that  I  showed  a  faith  that  was 
pleasing  to  the  Lord." 

"  But  what  was  it,  worm  !  "  roared  Fortino. 

"  What,  then,  did  he  tell  you,  lime-kiln?  "  was  the 
response. 


3o8  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

"Just,  too,"  put  in  Francisco. 

"  He  told  me,  damn  you,  that  you  had  gone  to 
warn  him  of  the  enemy's  coming." 

"  This  is  white  truth,"  said  Anastasio.  "  This  is 
pure  innocence.  He  was  right.  Doroteo's  honesty, 
too,  was  untouched.  We  were  a  good  honest  trio, 
and  this  also,  I  dare  say,  pleased  the  Lord." 

"  He  told  me,  too,"  continued  Fortino,  bending 
over  and  holding  his  fist  always  before  the  other, 
speaking  in  growls  and  roars,  "  that  Vicente  was  to 
come  over  the  other  bridge,  the  bridge  toward  the 
mountains  and  take  his  stand  in  the  plaza." 

"Ah,  brother,  but  the  other  bridge  is  gone.  I 
went  yesterday,  when  the  dew  fell,  and  looked  at  the 
place.  Brother,"  he  repeated  with  infinite  gentle 
ness,  "  there  is  no  other  bridge." 

"  But  he  told  me,"  cried  Fortino  with  a  great  gasp 
and  burning  to  the  roots  of  his  hair,  "  that  the  bridge 
was  rebuilt !  " 

"  I  wonder  if  this,  too,"  whined  the  long  one, 
"pleased  the  Lord." 

"  He  said  —  he  said  —  that  the  enemy  was  coming 
up  the  river  road  !  Tell  me,  then,  what  your  mes 
sage  was,  and  tell  me  quick — I  can  stand  no 
more!" 

"  While  you  lay  slumbering  like  a  babe,  brother, 
he  told  me  that  the  enemy  should  be  in  the  plaza 
and  I  should  direct  Vicente  up  the  river  road." 

"  I  can  swear,"  said  Francisco  excitedly,  "  that  this 
same  message  Anastasio  delivered  with  speed  and 
honesty." 

The  full  realization  of  the  treachery  broke  slowly 
over  the  giant's  ponderously  moving  mind.  He 
turned  about  in  his  smothered  rage  and  stared  like  a 
crazy  one  at  the  house  of  Quiroz.  Then  his  eyes 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  309 

went  wild  and  swept  over  the  unmoved  Anastasio 
and  the  excited  Francisco.  The  perspiration  sud 
denly  poured  in  streams  from  his  face  and  he  strode 
away  heavily,  like  a  mighty  mechanism,  toward  the 
rear  door  that  led  into  the  alley.  He  came  to  the 
anvil  and  seized  it  up.  He  turned  and  lifted  the  mass 
of  iron  in  both  hands  high  over  his  head.  For 
a  second  he  held  it  there,  a  statue  of  some  enraged 
Hercules  ready  to  crush  the  world.  Then  he  hurled 
it  with  the  force  of  a  field-gun  straight  through  the 
clear  morning  air,  over  the  heads  of  his  comrades,  till 
it  crashed  into  the  wall  that  divided  the  stable  court 
from  the  house's  patio.  It  tore  a  hole  in  that  wall 
big  enough  for  a  child  to  hide  himself  in,  and  sent 
the  adobes  flying  shattered.  The  hurler  turned 
majestically  about  and  proceeded  toward  the  alley. 
He  came  to  the  door,  turned  again,  and  shook  his 
fist  at  the  house  and  stamped  the  dust  of  the  accursed 
place  from  his  feet,  crying  hoarsely : 

"  Let  me  see  you  no  more  !  " 

He  went  out  and  banged  the  door  so  that  one  of 
its  planks  split  from  top  to  bottom,  and  they  heard 
him  going  away  crying: 

"Son  of  hell!     Son  of  hell !" 

He  trod  thus  out  of  the  town  and  to  the  borders 
of  the  lake,  and  there  where  there  was  loneliness  and 
the  morning  sun  and  breeze  and  the  plaintive  note  of 
the  dove,  he  sat  himself  down  by  the  marsh. 

His  two  companions  remained  for  some  time  where 
they  were. 

"  I  had  foreseen,"  said  Francisco  at  last,  "  that  it 
was  some  strategy." 


CHAPTER   III 

THAT  some  one  else  on  the  premises  of  Quiroz 
had  passed  as  bad  a  night  as  had  Fortino,  the 
giant  could  not  know.  The  day  before,  during  all 
the  hours  that  succeeded  the  catastrophe,  Pepa  had 
not  left  the  house.  She  had  stayed  chiefly  in  her 
room ;  when  she  had  come  out  it  was  in  silence. 
Clarita  perceived  a  great  change  in  her  erstwhile  vi 
vacious  friend.  Pepa,  during  that  day  and  the  night 
that  followed  it,  was  a  haunted  woman.  Somehow 
the  horror  of  the  deed  had  been  too  great,  too  mon 
strous,  for  one  so  young  as  she. 

She  was  not  incapable  of  remorse.  It  was  not  so 
much  that  she  was  faithless  or  irresistibly  wicked.  It 
was  rather  to  be  considered  entirely  from  the  opposite 
view-point,  —  she  loved  overpoweringly,  and  in  her 
love  was  a  passion  really  mad ;  her  nature  was  not 
trained  either  by  heredity  or  environment  to  collect 
the  scattered  elements  of  good  in  her  character  and 
make  a  chain  to  resist  the  evil  course  of  her  love. 
During  that  day  she  did  not  venture  out  to  find  him 
whom  she  loved,  and  who,  she  believed  in  her  unso 
phisticated  mind,  had  encouraged  her  to  the  deed, 
had  even  silently  offered  her  the  reward.  She  did 
not  venture  out  simply  because,  long  to  as  she  might, 
she  could  not.  She  found  herself  powerless,  dread 
ing  seeing  him  as  much  as  she  desired  it.  For  now 
that  the  deed  was  done,  and  she  had  seen  it,  its  hide- 
ousness  was  visible  to  her.  There  crept  into  her  un- 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  311 

tutored  heart  some  instinctive  fear  that  that  white 
man  —  he  who  awed  her  and  won  her,  and  whose 
race  and  its  civilization  were  mysteries  to  her  — 
might  be  revolted  by  this  treachery.  She  dared  not 
think  that  out  —  she  only  felt  it.  So  she  was  afraid 
and  wretched  all  that  day,  full  of  her  love  and  her 
hopes,  recalling  over  and  over  the  night  at  Ocotlan 
and  his  face  when  it  held  out  promises  to  her.  Hence, 
for  the  time,  the  treachery  and  the  wildness  were 
gone,  as  though  she  had  been  two  women. 

All  that  day  she  found  herself  perversely  and  per 
sistently  trying  to  hear  nothing  of  that  which  went 
on  in  the  town.  In  her  revulsion  of  feeling  she  would 
listen  to  nothing.  Dona  Manuela  and  Clarita,  after  a 
few  attempts  at  drawing  her  out  (they  were  in  igno 
rance  of  her  part  in  the  drama,  though  Clarita  feared 
her  as  always),  held  instinctively  aloof.  Quiroz 
found  he  could  make  nothing  of  her,  and  went  away 
pondering  on  this  new  mood,  realizing  that  he  might 
never  get  to  the  bottom  of  this  strange  woman,  and, 
for  that  very  reason,  fascinated  the  more.  She  shut 
herself  up  before  it  was  dark,  and  was  not  again  seen 
till  morning.  She  lay  dressed,  realizing  every  min 
ute  that  she  might  be  losing  the  last  chance  to  see 
Rodrigo,  but  nevertheless,  because  of  that  silent,  in 
stinctive  fear,  unable  to  move.  For  something  like 
twenty  hours  out  of  her  life  she  lost  her  daring. 
Hence  the  night  was  one  of  an  emotion  that  it  is 
hardly  too  extravagant  to  call  agony. 

When  dawn  came,  she  having  slept  but  little,  it 
seemed  that  the  light  of  a  new  day  brought  her 
somewhat  back  to  herself.  She  arose,  and  that  very 
action  revived  her.  She  felt  her  old  daring  and 
spirit  somewhat  returned.  She  made  her  toilet  with 
her  mind  full  of  half-formed  purposes  and  her  blood 


3i2  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

high.  She  was  less  of  a  woman,  doubtless,  than  she 
had  been  in  her  sullen  silence  of  the  day  before ;  but 
she  was  Pepa  once  more.  She  was  sorry  she  had  let 
all  the  day  and  night  go  by  in  inaction.  Then,  it 
being  still  early,  about  the  time,  indeed,  when  For- 
tino  was  shaking  the  dust  of  the  place  from  his  feet, 
Quiroz  knocked,  was  admitted,  and  told  her  of  the 
departure  of  thejefc  with  his  prisoner. 

"  I  tried,  incomprehensible  and  ever-maddening 
woman,  to  let  you  know  of  this  last  night,  but  you 
would  not  respond  to  the  tapping  of  a  lover's  fingers 
on  your  door.  '  The  fair  one  is  asleep,'  said  I ;  '  and 
after  all,  what  matter?  The  thing  is  done;  why 
trouble  one's  brains  about  the  destiny  of  th'isjefe? 
Let  the  fair  one  sleep.'  Which  I  did,  though  I  longed 
to  read  your  dreams." 

There  was  but  little  change  of  expression  on  Pepa's 
face,  for  she  was  again  nearly  mistress  of  herself;  but 
that  little  Quiroz  perceived.  And  with  her  subse 
quent  questions  and  actions  there  came  to  him  the 
first  vague  suspicion  of  a  possible  truth  —  but  it  did 
not  form  itself  into  a  positive  doubt. 

"Where  have  they  gone?"  asked  she,  quietly. 

"Where  else  but  to  the  city?"  responded  he. 
"But  theyV/i-  is  sometimes  original.  It  would  be,  so 
it  seems  to  me,  folly  to  go  to  Guadalajara.  Yet  I 
believe  there  he  has  gone.  On  the  other  hand,  it 
would  be  like  him  to  stop  on  the  island.  He  could 
hold  that  against  many  canoas,  and  the  rocks  and 
waves  would  help  him;  but  the  project  is  a  little 
reckless.  What  matters  it?  He  and  Vicente  are 
gone  ;  and  permit  me,  in  the  last  bottom  of  my  heart, 
to  curse  tiizkjefe  politico" 

She  came  and  laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"Then  you  have  failed,"  she  said,  fastening  on  his 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  313 

the  eyes  that  began  to  dance  with  light.  "  He  would 
not  join  in  the  great  scheme.  You  are  bitter  over 
this,  Doroteo.  It  has  disappointed  you  more  than 
you  will  say.  The  canker  of  it  is  still  in  you." 

"  There  was  some  tameness  in  him,"  said  he.  "  It 
seemed  to  me  like  an  omen.  I  used  to  quit  the  game 
when  I  felt  like  this.  But  since  it  is  so,  I  am  glad  he 
did  not  stay.  I  should  have  been  tempted,  when  I 
gather  up  the  army,  to  whip  him  for  a  kind  of  devil 
ish  delight  I  should  take  in  it.  Now,  what  do  I  care ; 
what  does  Josefa  Aranja  care  ?  She  trusts  me ;  she 
knows  I  can  pick  up  this  scattered  force.  Pepa,  I 
will  do  all  that  I  have  sworn  to  do  or  die." 

"Then  at  it,"  she  said  firmly,  and  dazzling  him 
with  the  smile  he  had  not  seen  for  many  hours.  "  Go. 
If  I  am  inspiration  to  you,  remember  now  how  I 
send  you  away.  I  call  you  a  hero.  I  put  my  hands 
on  your  shoulders,  so.  I  look  into  your  eyes,  so. 
I  give  you  all  hope,  all  promise.  Go  now;  do  not 
delay  one  hour.  For  you  carry  with  you  my  love." 

She  half  whispered  the  last  with  an  odd  pensive- 
ness.  He  was  glittering  of  eye  and  full  of  bounding 
blood.  He  would  have  seized  her  and  kissed  her, 
but  she  broke  suddenly  away,  and,  with  a  touch  of 
coldness,  bade  him  leave  her. 

"  Then,  pretty  tigress,  I  am  to  have  no  pledge?  " 

"  Tigress  is  a  good  word,  in  books ;  you  have  used 
it  before;  but  it  is  not  I.  Pledge?  Rapacious  Qui- 
roz  !  Look ;  when  I  arise  a  few  mornings  hence  and 
step  to  this  window  and  see  you  riding  up  the  street 
with  an  army  at  your  back,  then  you  may  have  it  — 
never,  never,  never  till  then  !  " 

So  he  left  her,  fired  with  his  enthusiasm,  the  canker 
and  the  omen  no  more  in  his  mind,  reckless  and 
stealthy  Ouiroz.  The  mozo  saddled  a  horse  for  him 


3i4  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

and  Doroteo,  not  so  much  as  taking  leave  of  his 
fluttering  mother,  mounted  it  in  the  patio  and  rode 
away. 

It  was  not  long  after  that  that  Pepa  found  Clarita 
alone  under  the  trees  of  the  patio.  The  sad  Clarita 
sat  on  a  bench  there,  deep  in  her  troubled  thoughts, 
a  silent  girl,  almost  a  hopeless  one.  The  flecks  of 
sunlight  coming  through  the  mass  of  leaves,  made 
shining  spots  of  gold  on  her  hair.  Pepa  came  up 
quietly.  She  was  again  the  old  lovable  Pepa.  She 
put  her  arm  tenderly  round  Clarita'*  waist. 

"  What  are  you  dreaming  about  so  sadly?  "  asked 
she. 

"  Vicente,"  said  Clarita. 

"  You  knew  that  they  took  him  away  last  night?  " 

"  I  saw  him  go,"  was  the  reply. 

"  No  one  knows  where  he  has  gone  unless  it  be 
you,  Clarita.  Do  you  know?" 

"  I  do  not  know.     But  I  know  where  it  may  be." 

Pepa  smoothed  the  other's  hair. 

"  Where?  "  asked  she.     "  To  Guadalajara?  " 

"  No,  I  do  not  believe  they  would  take  him  there." 

"Then  where?" 

"To  Prison  Island." 

"Why?" 

"  From  something  Don  Rodrigo  said  when  we  were 
coming,"  said  Clarita. 

Then  she  told  her  what  it  was.  There  was  a  long 
and  earnest  conversation  after  that  between  the  two. 
There  was  suddenly  born  a  purpose  in  Pepa's  mind, 
but  before  she  could  speak  it,  Clarita  herself  had 
urged  the  deed;  for  in  the  latter's  feminine  heart 
there  was  bravery  of  its  kind,  and,  least  expected  of 
all  perhaps,  an  ingenuity  and  creative  talent,  not  ex 
ceedingly  prominent  but,  in  the  one  great  subject, 


X   DREAM   OF  A    THRONE  315 

capable  of  conceiving  and  doing.  There  were  plans 
laid,  and  a  course  was  determined  on.  A  half  hour 
later  Clarita  arose  with  new  light  and  hope  in  her 
face.  She  went  alone  into  the  rear  patio. 

"  Where  is  Fortino?  "  she  asked. 

"  He  went  out  of  that  door,"  replied  Anastasio, 
"  and  I  heard  him  making  the  river  road  shake  with 
his  walking  on  it." 

She  returned,  went  into  the  Street  by  the  patio 
door,  and  proceeded  toward  the  river.  She  asked 
several  whom  she  passed  for  news  of  him.  One  had 
seen  a  very  large  man  yonder  by  the  shore.  Thither 
she  came,  finding  him  sitting  in  a  small  bare  space 
between  the  lake  road  and  the  marsh,  his  eyes  fixed 
on  the  dark  water  that  lay  silent  among  the  reeds. 
The  flat  marsh  was  green  and  shining  in  the  morn 
ing  sun,  with  the  river  winding  through  it  a  glistening 
band.  There  was  little  wind.  Doves  in  the  trees 
were  still  making  their  sad  sounds,  of  all  in  nature 
fittest  music  to  the  scene. 

The  fisherman  did  not  hear  her  approach.  She 
came  where  he  sat,  and  laid  her  small  hand  on  his 
shoulder.  He  turned  his  head  slowly,  and  looked  at 
her,  without  much  evidence  of  recognition. 

"  Fortino,"  she  said  gently,  "  you  are  very  wretched 
over  yesterday.  At  least  I,  Fortino,  do  not  believe 
that  it  is  you  who  are  to  blame.  I  think  I  even  know 
who  is,  and,  except  that  I  was  so  weak  from  grief 
and  did  not  know  where  to  turn,  and  Dona  Manuela 
was  kind,  I  could  not  have  stayed  in  his  house.  I  can 
not  return  thither.  Fortino,  do  not  despair.  There 
is  always  a  way  for  the  faithful  one,  and  you  are  Vi 
cente's  friend.  Listen  to  me  ;  I  will  tell  you  how  we 
might  do  something,  at  least  come  where  he  is,  so 
that  you  can  let  him  know  you  did  not  mean  it 


3i6  A   DREAM   OF  A    THRONE 

I,  too,  will  tell  him  that,  and  we  will  not  feel  hard 
against  you.  Do  you  hear,  Fortino?" 

He  looked  into  her  tender  eyes.  The  animal-like 
man  melted  before  her,  and  that  odd  old  Fortino 
actually  wept,  of  a  sudden,  like  a  child.  Then  she 
continued,  putting  her  hand  on  his,  being  very  sorry 
for  him : 

"  Don  Rodrigo  and  some  soldiers  and  two  vessels 
went  away  across  the  lake  last  night  at  dark,  taking 
Vicente.  I  saw  them.  Nobody  knows  where  they 
went,  but  I  have  good  reasons  for  thinking  it  was  to 
the  island  that  lies  out  there  seven  leagues  distant. 
And  this  is  why.  When  we  were  coming,  Don  Rod 
rigo  and  I  talked  of  the  island,  and  he  said  he  had 
been  there.  He  said,  too,  he  did  not  like  to  speak 
of  it,  for,  if  the  course  of  the  war  took  a  certain  turn, 
he  might  have  to  do  what  he  should  not  like  to  do. 
I  did  not  understand  him,  but  I  think  now  he  was 
thinking  of  the  capture  of  Vicente,  and  it  came  over 
him  that  there  might  be  the  safest  spot;  for  they 
say  much  of  the  old  prison  remains.  Fortino,  you 
do  not  believe  it  is  haunted,  and  are  not  afraid  of 
ghosts  ?  " 

"  Not  I,"  muttered  he  heavily,  beginning  to  think. 

"  You  have  never  been  there?" 

"  No." 

"  Would  you  go,  Fortino,  if  I  wanted  you  to,  and 
take  me  —  me  and  Pepita?  " 

Pepa  had  so  managed  the  affair  of  the  day  before 
that  none  of  the  directions  to  him  or  any  other  save 
Quiroz  had  come  from  her.  She  had  been  the  un 
seen  power.  Hence  Fortino  had  not  definitely  con 
nected  her  with  the  treachery.  But  he  did  not  like  her. 

"  I  don't  want  to  take  the  other  one,"  said  he. 

"Why?" 


A    DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  317 

"  Nothing.     I  don't  like  the  other  one." 

"  Well,  but  she  wants  to  go.  I  do  not  know  any 
reason  why  I  should  not  want  her  to.  You  know 
—  you  know,  Fortino,  she  and  Vicente  are  —  were 
lovers.  It  would  be  only  right  that  she  go." 

She  was  smothering  her  own  suspicions,  trying  to 
be  good  to  Pepa  in  her  own  sorrow. 

"  Yes,  I  want  you  to  take  us  both.  You  can 
get  two  other  sailors.  You  can  take  my  father  and 
Anastasio." 

"  No,"  groaned  he  ;   "  they  taunted  me." 

"  This  was  very  wrong  of  them,"  she  said  thought 
fully.  "  Well,  there  are  others.  And  we  shall  take 
food  for  three  days,  for  we  may  not  find  him  at  once. 
I  was  once  out  five  days,  going  from  place  to  place 
with  my  father,  and  sleeping  in  the  canoa ;  it  was  a 
good  journey,  and  I  liked  it.  We  will  go  first  to  the 
island.  If  he  is  not  there,  we  will  go  on  across  the 
lake,  and  learn  where  he  is.  Then,  if  they  have 
taken  him  too  far  away,  at  least,"  and  her  voice 
broke,  "  we  can  go  to  Chapala  and  be  at  home. 
There  is  nothing  to  be  done,  Fortino,  by  staying  here. 
You  want  to  tell  him  that  you  are  still  faithful ;  that 
it  was  no  fault  of  yours,  only  your  faith.  We  will 
find  him ;  even  there  may  be  some  chance  to  rescue 
him,  for  you  are  very  strong." 

"  I  would  break  down  the  gates  of  Heaven  to  do 
that,  Clarita,"  said  he. 

"  Then  you  will  come?" 

"  Si"  he  replied,  arising  with  a  mournful  dignity, 
and  seeming  to  the  small  girl  very  large  indeed, 
"  I  will  go.  But  the  wind  is  wrong.  I  think  we 
shall  have  to  wait  till  night  for  a  wind.  It  has 
changed  since  I  sat  here.  The  sky,  the  clouds,  the 
very  air  are  against  me,  wreck  that  I  am." 


3i8  A   DREAM    OF  A    THRONE 

"  Then,"  said  she,  "  we  will  go  when  the  wind 
comes." 

She  thanked  him  fervently,  and  gave  him  her  hand, 
and  then,  wrapping  the  gray  rcbozo  about  her  head 
and  shoulders,  went  on  into  the  town.  She  went  to 
Quiroz's  house  only  to  report  to  Pepa.  She  would 
not  stay  there.  She  went  to  an  inn  at  the  plaza,  and 
remained  in  it  all  day. 

Thus  it  chanced  that,  when  a  southern  breeze 
sprang  up  toward  six  o'clock  that  evening,  and  the 
sun  had  lit  his  flames  in  the  west,  another  canoa  was 
poled  down  the  river  and  sent  out  into  the  lake, 
where  the  white  square  of  canvas  caught  the  wind, 
and  a  journey  was  begun  toward  a  barely  visible 
speck  of  black  in  the  distant  middle  of  the  great 
basin. 


CHAPTER   IV 

THERE  is  but  a  vague  idea  among  the  inhabi 
tants  of  the  lake  borders  concerning  the 
origin  and  the  age  of  the  ruins  that  are  still 
to  be  seen  on  Prison  Island,  ruins  which,  by  their 
massiveness,  by  their  evidences  of  a  complete  and 
elaborate  system,  form  a  startling  contrast  to  the 
simplicity  of  the  life  of  the  surrounding  shores.  One 
need  only  chance  on  that  deserted  spot  in  the  middle 
of  the  lake  to  know  that  a  powerful  and  civilized 
nation  came  and  pushed  its  institutions  into  a  primi 
tive  one. 

The  island  is  three-quarters  of  a  mile  long  and  less 
than  a  quarter  of  a  mile  wide  in  its  widest  part.  At 
some  parts  the  width  is  less  than  an  eighth.  It  is 
curved  round  a  small  bay  on  the  western  side,  the 
side  toward  Chapala  and  from  which  Chapala's  towers 
are  barely  visible.  It  is  a  rocky  and  rugged  piece  of 
land,  stern,  unpromising.  It  rises  more  than  one 
hundred  feet  above  the  water  and  its  summit  is 
somewhat  flat.  Its  sides  are  steep  and  strewn  with 
boulders.  In  places  at  the  shore  lie  vast  quanti 
ties  of  broken  rocks  heaped  or  strewn  in  chaos. 
The  place  has  repelled  men  for  many  years.  The 
prison  is  too  gloomy,  too  stern.  They  thought  it 
haunted. 

There  are  a  few  large  trees  on  the  summit,  but 
the  most  prevalent  plant  is  the  great,  zigzag  bush 
of  the  flat-leaved  cactus  that  bears  the  juicy  tuna. 


320  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

These  plants  stand  in  thorny  clusters  that  rise  high 
in  air  and  cover  spaces  of  many  square  yards,  defy 
ing  penetration.  They  cling,  too,  down  on  the  steep 
sides  and  drop  red  fruit  into  the  waves.  But  they 
leave  much  of  the  summit  bare.  There  are  some 
wild  goats  leaping  among  the  stones.  Many  a  car 
rion-eating  black  bird  of  great  size,  being  a  kind  of 
vulture,  hovers  about  ruined  wall  or  empty  moat, 
or  flaps  a  sluggish  wing  over  the  roofless  cells. 

Toward  the  northern  end  stand  the  ruins  of  a  stone 
Catholic  chapel.  The  roof  lies  broken  on  the  floor. 
The  naves  are  empty.  The  walls  are  discolored  by 
time  and  let  in  the  sunlight  through  yawning  gaps. 
There  is  no  altar,  nor  any  pulpit,  nor  a  vestige  of 
priesthood,  nor  any  memory  of  those  that  came  in 
at  the  high  arched  door  and  knelt.  There  is  a  large 
open  square  near  by  whose  surrounding  walls,  fifty 
yards  in  each  direction,  are  mouldering  and  covered 
with  herbage. 

A  full  half  mile  away,  at  the  southern  end,  the  end 
toward  Tizapan,  are  the  remains  of  an  edifice  much 
larger  and  curious  of  construction.  It  was  like  two 
tunnels  built  above  instead  of  under  the  ground,  of 
stone,  rising  fifty  feet  in  height,  the  tunnels  parallel, 
divided  only  by  a  single  wall  that  was  common  to 
both.  There  was  no  communication  between  them. 
There  were  no  partitions.  The  tiny  windows  were 
thirty  feet  above  the  ground  and  the  arched  roofs 
let  in  no  light.  Each  long  passage  measured  twenty 
yards  from  end  to  end.  Each  might  have  held  many 
prisoners  and,  thus  occupied,  even  beneath  the 
ground  there  could  scarcely  have  been  a  more 
loathsome  dungeon.  The  appearance  of  this  build 
ing  from  without,  is  strange  in  the  extreme.  Its 
position,  too,  arrests  attention.  It  is  high  on  the 


A   DREAM   OF  A    THRONE  321 

bluff  over  the  water.  The  island  at  that  end  narrows 
and  that  section  of  it  whereon  the  building  stands 
is  cut  off  from  the  rest  by  a  deep  moat  that  extends 
entirely  across  the  land.  The  moat  is  now  dry ;  the 
drawbridge  is  wanting.  In  one  of  the  two  high 
pillars  that  stand  at  the  place  of  the  bridge  is  an 
inscription  stone.  The  inscription  is  chiselled  away. 

Between  the  church  occupying  the  island's  one 
end  and  the  vaulted  building  occupying  the  other, 
and  situated  in  the  centre  of  the  widest  portion  of 
the  island,  stands  the  largest  edifice.  It  is  nearer  the 
vaulted  one  than  the  church.  A  space  of  some  one 
hundred  yards  separates  this  prison  from  that  of  the 
tunnels.  It  is  exceedingly  large  and  square,  being 
made  of  long  rows  of  cells  extending  successively 
round  the  four  sides  of  an  inner  open  court.  None 
of  the  cells  has  doors  opening  out  to  the  unwalled 
island.  Some  of  them  have  doors  opening  into  the 
court.  Others  have  not  even  these,  nor  any  win 
dows,  only  one  narrow  door  leading  into  a  second 
cell  which,  windowless,  leads  into  a  third,  thence  to 
a  fourth.  The  fourth  may  open  into  the  court. 
Thus  there  are  series  with  but  one  entrance  for  each. 
The  last  of  a  series,  with  its  door  locked,  must  have 
been  a.  hole  of  horrors  to  him  who  occupied  it. 

Nearly  all  the  walls  stand  firm  and  strong,  though 
blackened.  The  greater  portion  of  the  roofs  has 
fallen  in  and  lies  in  ruins.  There  is  a  reason  for  the 
intact  condition  of  the  walls.  There  is  a  place  where 
it  seems  a  prisoner  has  tried  to  dig  his  way  out, 
which  place  shows  the  composition.  He  began  with 
the  plaster  coating  and  came  to  a  layer  of  brick. 
Doubtless  he  was  overjoyed  that  it  was  brick  instead 
of  stone.  After  concealing  his  labor  for  some  time, 
in  peril  of  being  shot,  he  came  to  a  wall  of  solid 

21 


322  A   DREAM   OF  A    THRONE 

rock.  The  stones  of  it  arc  exceedingly  large.  They 
are  square  cut,  fitted  with  nicety.  He  failed  to  go 
further.  If  one  starts  boring  in  from  outside  he  will 
come  to  brick  also.  So  the  real  wall  of  stone  is 
buried  between  walls  of  brick.  The  whole  is  two 
yards  thick. 

The  court  in  the  centre  is  forty  yards  square.  It 
is  wild  looking,  deserted.  From  without  one  low 
passage  leads  into  it  between  cells.  To  reach  that 
passage  a  deep  moat  must  be  crossed,  a  moat  which 
surrounds  the  entire  prison.  It  is  now  dry  and  the 
bridge  is  gone.  In  two  corners  of  this  edifice  nar 
row  spiral  staircases  rise  to  the  summit  of  it,  issuing 
in  towers.  These  corners,  time-stained,  give  the  last 
touches  to  the  mediaeval  air  that  is  over  the  whole  of 
the  island.  But  the  mediaeval  power  is  gone. 

Farther  toward  the  eastern  shore  there  are  ruins 
that  are  more  completely  ruins.  Here  must  have 
been  a  building  as  large  as  that  just  described.  But 
it  was  much  older.  Its  walls  are  all  down,  rounded 
heaps  like  earthworks.  Out  of  the  summits  of  the 
heaps  grow  large  trees.  Again,  between  the  square 
prison  and  the  prison  of  tunnels,  stands  a  lone 
tower,  high  and  square,  with  stairs  in  it.  Past  this 
a  paved  road,  doubtless  convict  made,  leads  from  the 
one  prison  to  the  moat  that  cuts  the  island  in  two 
at  the  other,  and  continues  beyond. 

On  the  western  side,  the  side  of  the  bay,  the  side 
toward  Chapala,  the  ascent,  though  steep,  was  such 
as  to  allow  of  the  building  of  a  winding  roadway  up. 
It  is  broad  and  well  paved,  the  slow,  slow  work  of 
many  hands.  One  cannot  see  it  without  picturing 
to  himself  the  lines  of  wretches  that  toiled  in  bond 
age  up  the  long  incline.  At  its  foot  by  the  bay  are 
the  remnants  of  a  stone  landing-place.  Here  is  a  spot 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  323 

more  nearly  like  a  harbor  than  is  any  other  of  the 
shore.  Here  the  canoas  —  the  same  in  those  old 
times  that  they  are  to-day — discharged  their  un 
happy  cargoes.  At  the  landing,  with  its  base  beaten 
by  the  waves,  is  another  lonely  tower.  It  is  Roman 
in  appearance.  It  is  massive,  lifting  a  heavy  dome. 

To  him  who,  in  that  olden  time  of  tyranny,  brought 
his  enslaved  Aztec  body  and  his  crushed  Aztec  soul 
to  this  spot,  hope  must  have  perished,  and  the  day, 
though  it  were  the  fairest  that  the  fair  lake  knew, 
been  black.  For,  though  he  should  penetrate  the 
rock  and  cross  the  moat,  though  he  should  evade  the 
sentries  on  wall  and  in  tower,  freedom  yet  would  not 
be  his  till  he  should  swim  ten  miles  to  Mescala  on 
the  north,  or  twenty  to  the  south,  there  where  Tiza- 
pan  lies  unseen  under  her  peaks. 

Before  dawn  of  the  day  last  spoken  of  there  was 
the  unwonted  presence  of  two  canoas  in  the  little  bay, 
sailing  in  lonely,  disturbing  the  old  solitude,  being 
poled  at  length,  sails  down,  to  the  ruins  of  the  dock 
beside  the  tower.  The  wind  was  falling  and  the  waves 
were  gentle.  The  morning  star  was  up  in  the  east. 
The  guide  had  done  his  duty,  though  with  the  lessen 
ing  breeze  there  was  no  such  need  of  him  as  the 
jefe  had  anticipated.  Besides  the  anchors  at  the 
bows,  ropes  were  run  out  of  the  sterns  and  tied  at 
the  tower's  base.  The  tower  itself  rose  gloomy,  its 
dome  cutting  a  half  circle  out  of  the  sky.  The  rocky 
promontories  of  the  island,  too,  shut  out  half  the 
starry  expanse.  Men  disembarked  and  stood  about 
on  the  rocks,  chilled  by  the  place.  It  was  new  to 
them  all  save  to  the  guide  and  the  leader.  The 
prisoner  was  brought  to  land,  guarded.  He,  too, 
stood  looking  at  the  tower.  He  had  said  not  a  word 
since  he  entered  the  canoa  with  Bonavidas.  He  said 


324  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

nothing  now.  He  stood  aloof,  silent,  the  night  hiding 
the  expression  of  his  face.  When  the  men,  the 
weapons,  the  ammunition,  and  the  provisions  were  at 
length  safely  landed  on  the  remnants  of  pier,  the 
prisoner  was  heard  to  sigh  heavily. 

The  guide,  whose  scarred  face  had  been  seen  at 
times  during  the  voyage  by  the  light  of  a  candle  and 
had  been  observed  to  show  signs  of  excitement,  was 
on  the  point  of  landing.  Rodrigo's  voice  sounded 
odd  and  loud,  breaking  on  the  silence: 

"  Keep  to  your  vessel,  friend,"  said  he.  "  I  shall 
not  pay  you  by  leaving  you  in  this  solitude.  I 
promised  to  see  you  over.  So  I  will.  Bonavidas, 
have  you  chosen  your  men?" 

"  They  are  ready  enough,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Take,  then,  this  vessel.  It  is  the  fastest.  The 
wind  will  not  last  you  many  hours  more.  So  make 
for  the  nearest  coast.  Take  this  silent  friend  with 
you  and  give  him  his  liberty  when  you  arrive.  Then 
you  and  your  three  companions  get  you  to  the  gov 
ernor  as  fast  as  any  beasts  you  can  steal  or  buy  or  bor 
row  can  travel  thither.  Give  him  first  the  letter,  and 
in  the  name  of  haste  get  an  answer  from  him  at  once 
and  bring  it,  that  I  may  know  my  next  step.  And 
remember  this,  as  I  have  told  you :  If  there  is  to  be 
any  delay,  if  I  am  to  hold  this  desert  spot  so  much 
as  a  day  after  your  return,  he  is  to  send  me  a  cannon 
or  two  to  do  it  with.  Go  on  and  make  haste." 

The  mute  was  crouched  on  the  stern  of  the  vessel. 
He  hesitated.  He  felt  Rodrigo's  hand  on  his 
shoulder  and  suddenly  flashed  eyes  at  the  jcfc  that 
were  luminous  in  the  darkness. 

"Thank  you  friend,"  said  thcjefe,  "  and  farewell." 

The  mute  descended  within,  went  creeping  to  the 
bow,  and  lay  down  there,  where  it  was  black,  on  the 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  325 

boat's  bottom  under  an  unused  sail.  Bonavidas  and 
three  others  entered  likewise.  The  boat  glided  out 
impelled  by  poles.  It  lay  for  a  moment  rocking 
yonder  on  the  waves.  Then  the  canvas  went  up  and 
caught  the  breeze.  With  the  four  soldiers  in  the 
stern  and  the  mute  in  the  bow,  the  vessel  began  its 
journey  in  the  first  of  the  dawn. 

None  of  those  left  behind  spoke.  The  march  up 
the  old  winding  roadway  of  cobblestones  began, 
Vicente,  strong  and  elastic  of  step,  leading  the  way. 
He  seemed  to  hasten  to  this  new  condition  as  though 
it  were  part  of  his  own  necessary  course.  The  steep 
way  led  between  walls  of  rock  and  clusters  of  cacti. 
They  issued  at  length  on  the  island's  top  under 
certain  trees,  and  the  lake  and  the  round  tower  were 
far  below.  Under  these  trees,  they  halted  him  and, 
a  guard  being  left,  Rodrigo  and  some  others  went 
away  and  disappeared.  They  were  gone  an  hour, 
during  which  it  grew  lighter,  during  which,  also,  the 
prisoner  stood,  seemingly  unseeing,  and  looked  at 
the  east  where  the  sun  would  rise  out  of  the  water. 
When  at  last  the  jefe  returned  there  was  red  in  the 
sky  and  the  clear  freshness  of  a  new  day  in  the  air. 
Rodrigo  had  examined  the  island  from  end  to  end. 
He  knew  his  course.  He  was,  too,  sick  at  heart. 

"  Come,"  said  he  to  Vicente,  constrainedly.  "  I 
must  plunge  into  it  as  into  cold  water,  and  have  it 
done.  If  you  knew  half  the  bitterness  this  business 
causes  me,  we  might  yet  be  friends." 

Vicente  turned  his  eyes  on  the  speaker. 

"  Why,  we  are  sufficiently  so,"  said  he.  "  We 
follow  different  laws,  that  is  all.  At  least  you  are  a 
man.  There  be  some  that  are  not  men." 

The  jefe  was  startled  to  see  the  other's  one  un- 
bandaged  hand  held  out  to  him.  He  took  it  in 


326  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

silence  and  turned,  and  Vicente  followed.  They 
went  to  that  great  square  prison,  across  whose  moat  at 
the  only  opening  the  soldiers  had  dragged  the  trunk 
of  a  tree.  When  the  prisoner  finally  entered  and 
felt  the  presence  of  the  walls  about  him,  the  sun  was 
rising  and  burnishing  the  lake  and  a  track  of  yellow 
gold  led  across  the  water  straight  into  its  great  eye. 

He  was  taken  through  the  stone  passage  and  into 
the  open  court.  Its  floor  was  covered  with  weeds, 
shrubs,  and  cacti.  Among  these  the  party  went, 
crossing  to  the  western  wall.  On  this  side  there  was 
one  of  those  series  of  cells  already  mentioned,  where 
of  a  single  cell  only  gave  exit  into  the  court.  The 
second  opened  only  into  the  first.  It  had  a  small, 
deep-barred  window.  The  third  led  into  the  second 
and  the  fourth  into  the  third.  These  two  last  had 
no  other  doors  nor  any  windows.  They  had  been 
dungeons. 

The  innermost  of  the  four,  that  one  most  dungeon- 
like,  was  still  roofed.  It  was  situated  in  the  far  south 
east  corner  of  the  ruins.  To  pass  from  it  through  the 
three  others,  and  thence  to  the  only  exit,  one  must  tra 
verse  a  distance  of  some  thirty  yards,  for  the  cells  were 
long.  The  partition  between  it  and  the  third  was 
intact  and  the  open  doorway  very  narrow.  Between 
the  third  and  the  second  were  the  rotten  remnants  of 
a  heavy  wooden  door  strengthened  by  iron  bands. 
The  second  cell  was  roofless  and  the  partition  between 
it  and  the  first  was  partially  down.  The  exit  into  the 
court  was  another  narrow  doorway  with  no  door. 
Guards  at  this  passage  were  thus  in  command  of  the 
four  cells. 

They  put  him  in  that  series,  and  some  soldiers 
took  their  stand  at  the  entrance.  Rodrigo,  eager  to 
be  away  from  a  spot  that  was  loathsome  to  him,  took 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  327 

the  rest  of  his  men  to  the  shore  again,  whence  the 
provisions  were  to  be  carried  to  the  sufnmit.  Those 
provisions  were,  for  the  most  part,  of  that  very  store 
that  Fortino  and  Anastasio  had  seen  to  the  gathering 
of  in  Tizapan.  They  were,  in  the  main,  taken  to  the 
ruins  of  the  church.  It  was  there  Rodrigo  made  his 
quarters.  He  would  not  stay  longer  than  need  be  in 
the  prison.  The  church  was  cleaned,  fuel  was  col 
lected,  duties  were  assigned,  and  the  wait  for  the 
governor's  orders  was  begun,  —  a  wait  that,  to  him 
who  was  master  of  the  spot,  who  loved  freedom  and 
deeds  and  action,  was  nevertheless  a  wait  of  unalloyed 
misery,  the  hours  of  which  were  depressing  weeks. 

"  Pray  God  I  may  receive  orders  to-morrow,"  said 
he,  "  and  that  I  be  not  forced  to  the  worst." 

Vicente  had  walked  into  his  prison  with  his  never- 
absent,  unmoved  calmness,  whatever  else  his  face 
bespoke.  They  asked  him  where  he  wished  his  bed. 
He  traversed  the  first  and  second  cells,  looking  at 
their  desolation.  He  pushed  open  the  rotten  door  to 
the  third,  and  the  hinges  grated  echoingly.  He 
traversed  the  third  and  the  fourth.  The  last  was 
darkest  and  most  depressing,  but  its  floor  was  intact. 
He  desired,  said  he,  to  sleep  there.  So  the  place 
was  cleaned  as  well  as  could  be.  It  was  paved  with 
large  square  stones.  Blankets  were  brought  and  put 
in  the  farthest  corner,  according  to  his  directions,  and 
a  candle  was  placed  beside  them.  He  was  left  alone. 

He  strode  slowly  back  and  forth  for  hours  from  the 
southern  end  of  the  innermost  cell  to  the  northern 
end  of  that  which  gave  exit  to  the  court  where  the 
guards  sat.  At  one  o'clock  they  brought  him  some 
thing  to  eat,  as  they  had  done  at  nine.  All  the 
afternoon  he  stood  in  the  second  cell  at  the  barred 
window,  looking  out  over  the  weed-choked  patio.  At 


32S  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

night,  having  eaten,  he  shut  himself  up  in  the  rear 
cells. 

He  did  not  sleep.  The  hours  went  by,  passed  by 
him  in  unhappy  thought.  And  it  was  characteristic 
of  his  unsullied  nature  and  the  strong  and  faithful 
clinging  to  his  one  purpose,  that  not  his  failure  or  his 
danger  was  the  cause  of  bitterest  grief  to  him,  but 
rather  the  sorrowful  fact  of  the  treachery  that  had 
brought  them  about.  He  tried  to  put  the  memory 
of  that  away.  He  wished,  finally,  that  his  wounded 
head  and  shoulder  might  pain  him  more  poignantly, 
that  he  might  thus  be  unable  to  think.  But  the 
treachery  was  yet  uppermost.  There  was  one  subject 
of  thought,  however,  that  finally  banished  even  that. 

As  he  had  neared  the  island  a  burst  of  light  had 
come  over  his  brain.  He  had  watched  the  course  of 
the  vessel  with  unseen  intensity  of  interest.  There 
were  other  things  meant  by  that  heavy  sigh  which 
escaped  him  on  the  pier  than  mere  sadness.  It  meant, 
too,  relief  of  what  had  been  nearly  excitement.  When 
he  had  risen  to  the  island's  summit  he  had  scanned 
every  rock,  though  he  had  seemed  to  see  nothing. 
Arrived  at  that  summit  it  was  not  the  coming  day 
alone  that  he  saw.  Entering  his  prison  he  had 
strained  his  powers  of  recollection.  He  had  not, 
however,  been  gratified.  He  had  seen  nothing  that 
he  remembered.  But  his  situation,  he  felt,  was  never 
theless  strange  and  incongruous.  The  possibilities  of 
it  filled  him  with  an  unreasoning  anticipation.  When 
the  sun  at  length  rose,  therefore,  and  he  came,  after  a 
sleepless  night,  and  looked,  hollow-eyed,  through  the 
bars  into  the  desolate  court,  it  was  not  on  a  day  alto 
gether  without  hope  that  he  gazed,  nor  on  walls  that 
meant  nothing  but  imprisonment.  Yet  having  gazed 
thus  at  certain  black  wings  that  drooped  over  a  turret 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  329 

opposite,  he  sighed  again,  a  sigh  of  pain,  and  turned 
and  paced  among  the  ruins. 

"Fool,"  said  he;  "fool  you  are  and  have  ever 
been.  Now  that  your  dream  is  wrecked,  you  would 
look  for  miracles  to  spring  from  the  ruins  of  a  prison." 

That  day  also  passed  without  incident.  And  the 
second  night,  to  be  nearly  as  sleepless  as  the  first, 
closed  in. 

Meanwhile  the  vessel  in  which  Bonavidas  was  has 
tening  his  message  to  Guadalajara  and  on  which 
Vicente's  destiny  hung,  had  rounded,  in  that  first 
dawn,  the  rocks  that  mark  the  bay's  eastern  arm,  and 
made  for  Mescala.  It  was  still  nearly  dark  when  the 
last  of  the  island's  coasts  was  left  behind.  Just  after 
passing  that  last  headland,  a  spot  where  bold  rocks 
stood  out  of  the  water  and  the  land  was  broken 
with  stony  confusion,  the  four  soldiers  being  at  that 
time  in  the  boat's  stern  and  the  sail  somewhat  hiding 
the  bow,  one  of  the  four  believed  that  he  heard  a 
splash  in  the  water  to  the  front. 

"What  was  that?"  said  he,  leaning  over  the  side. 
"  There  was  a  noise  in  the  water." 

The  others  leaned  and  looked  also.  It  was  too  dark 
to  see. 

"  I  did  n't  hear  anything,  nor  you  either,"  said 
Bonavidas,  coughing  dryly  and  spitting  up  something, 
which  result  of  the  cough  he  did  not  make  manifest 
to  his  comrades.  He  turned,  then,  deathly  pale,  but 
smiling  his  same  uncanny  smile. 

"  I,  too,  heard  it,"  said  the  third  soldier,  who  was 
at  the  rudder. 

"  And  I,"  said  the  fourth,  "  but  it  was  only  a  fish. 
They  say  the  vagres  jump  out  of  the  water  so,  and  I 
have  seen  a  vagre  five  feet  long." 

"  It  is  not  so,';  answered  the  first.  "  Vagres  never 
jump  out  of  the  water." 


330  A   DREAM   OF  A    THROXK 

"  Vagrcs,  I  tell  you,  jump  most  astonishingly  high." 

"  Children,"  said  Bonavidas,  "  the  argument  is  pur 
poseless.  Jump  or  no  jump,  what  odds?  Call  it  a 
mermaid  ;  mermaids  are  prettier  than  vagrcs." 

The  discussion  was  dropped.  The  breeze  contin 
ued  light.  There  was  fear  lest  it  should  die  before 
bringing  them  to  shore.  The  high  blue  saw  of  the 
mountains  seemed  to  grow  higher  and  nearer  with 
exasperating  slowness.  Day  came  and  the  yellow 
sun ;  the  lake  was  a  mass  of  flashing  ripples.  When 
the  vessel  stood  half-way  between  the  tiny  and  distant 
island  and  the  vast  and  distant  mountains  of  the  shore, 
one  of  the  soldiers  left  the  stern,  where  he  had  been 
playing  cards  with  a  companion,  and,  stooping  under 
the  thatch,  went  to  the  bow. 

"  How  is  our  freight,  —  the  mute  ?  "  called  one  from 
the  stern. 

"  I  don't  see  him,"  said  the  other. 

"  He  is  under  the  sail." 

"  He  is  not  under  the  sail." 

"  I  tell  you  he  hid  himself  under  the  sail." 

"  If  you  can  see  fish  where  there  arc  none,  you  may 
see  him  under  it,  then.  I  tell  you,  friend,  there  is 
nothing  under  the  sail." 

The  two  who  were  not  at  the  rudder  followed  to 
the  bow.  The  sail  was  thrown  aside  and  lay  flat  on 
the  floor.  There  was  no  possible  place  in  a  vessel 
like  this  to  hide.  The  bow  was  empty.  The  soldiers 
gazed  at  one  another. 

"  Well,  may  Moses  comfort  me !  "  ejaculated  Bona 
vidas. 

"  He  has  slid  over  the  side  in  the  dark  and  dived 
yonder  by  the  island,"  said  the  fourth  soldier. 

"  Si,  senor"  said  the  first.     "  That  was  your  vagre" 


CHAPTER  V 

RODRIGO  determined  that  the  night  watches 
should  not  be  left  entirely  to  inferiors.  Un 
congenial  as  the  whole  task  had  grown  to  be,  he 
would  yet  watch  all  points  himself.  He  inaugurated 
the  custom  of  making  in  person  at  least  three  slow 
circuits  of  the  entire  island  each  night.  Thus  would 
there  be  less  possibility  of  a  fleet's  surprising  him. 

It  was  still  dark  on  the  morning  of  that  second  day, 
and  he  had  but  just  returned  to  the  church  from  his 
last  inspection  of  his  guards,  when  one  of  the  latter 
came  to  him.  A  canoa,  said  the  soldier,  had  anchored 
off  the  southern  point.  Thejefe  arose  and,  following 
the  guard,  went  and  looked  at  the  ghost-like  vessel, 
which  could  scarcely  be  seen  lying  on  the  waves. 
Some  intuition,  born  of  a  new  interest  in  his  life,  or 
perhaps  his  knowledge  of  her  nature,  turned  his 
thoughts  at  once  to  Clarita.  Moody,  dark  of  mind, 
he  gave  orders  that  the  vessel  be  watched,  and  re 
turned  to  the  church.  He  lay  down  and  passed 
sleepless  hours  till  day. 

"The  '  little  one/  "  he  muttered.  "  She  would  go 
into  the  great  abyss  to  find  him." 

At  daylight,  the  waves  being  smaller,  the  mysteri 
ous  canoa  was  poled  into  the  bay.  Rodrigo  had  dog 
gedly  refrained  from  watching  its  arrival.  He  had 
remained  at  the  church,  receiving  word  of  its  move 
ments.  He  mastered  his  own  perversity  at  length 
and  came  to  the  island's  upper  edge.  The  vessel 


332  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

lay  there  at  the  ruins  of  pier  with  the  ripples  lapping 
its  sides.  There  was  a  sailor  sitting  on  its  stern  eat 
ing  a  tortilla.  There  was  another  doing  something 
with  a  sail.  If  there  was  any  one  under  the  thatch, 
the  thatch  of  course  hid  him. 

Rodrigo  observed  these  things  at  a  glance ;  but 
they  took  none  of  his  attention.  His  eyes  were  nearer. 
She  was  there,  the  little  one,  toiling  slowly  up  the 
long  ascent  of  old  cobblestone  roadway,  a  cactus  or 
a  boulder  now  hiding  her,  for  she  was  very  small,  so  far 
down  there.  The  gray  rebozo  was  over  her  head  and 
shoulders,  and  the  hair  was  hid  from  the  light  of  the 
morning.  Strange  as  her  coming  was,  perhaps  her 
companion  seemed  stranger  yet,  merely  that  so  great 
and  rough  a  man  should  be  her  companion.  Fur 
Fortino  was  climbing  up,  too,  by  her  side,  Fortino  the 
huge,  with  a  demeanor  of  deep  seriousness,  of  depres 
sion.  His  sombrero  seemed  exceedingly  high.  His 
white  peon  shirt  and  his  loose  white  trousers  were  a  trifle 
soiled  and  his  sandals  a  trifle  worn.  Round  his  waist 
was  the  blue  sash,  still  brilliant.  He  was  assisting  her, 
holding  her  arm  in  a  stiff  and  unwonted  gallantry. 

The^V/i'  sighed  and  turned  back.  He  entered  the 
church  and  sat  down  on  a  heap  of  the  fallen  roof  with 
his  back  to  the  door.  After  a  time  the  new-comers 
had  reached  the  summit,  for  he  heard  her  high  voice 
asking  for  him. 

"We  will  go,  if  you  please,  senor,  to  Don  Rodrigo." 

A  soldier  came  into  the  church. 

"  Shall  I  bring  them  in  here?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  thcje/e. 

The  ruins  seemed  stern  to  her,  inspiring  her  with 
awe ;  and  she  shuddered  at  the  birds,  though  she  was 
not  conscious  of  seeing  them.  The  doorway  of  the 
church  was  large  and  she  and  Fortino  turned  to  it. 


A   DREAM   OF  A    THRONE  333 

The  giant  stood  stolidly  staring  at  the  back  of  Rod- 
rigo,  who  had  arisen  yonder  at  the  altar  place. 

"Don  Rodrigo,"  said  she  timidly. 

He  turned  and  looked  at  them.  Her  first  impres 
sion,  and  it  was  a  startling  one,  was  that  Rodrigo 
looked  older  than  she  had  thought  him.  He  forced 
himself  into  a  strained  cordiality,  white  and  serious  of 
face.  He  came  across  the  floor  among  bricks,  stone, 
and  mortar.  He  held  out  his  hand. 

"  Come  in  —  at  least  we  can  be  equal  in  a  church. 
Fortino,  my  friend,  you  have  brought  this  girl  to  a 
dreary  place." 

"  Senor,"  said  Fortino,  standing  glaring  at  Rodrigo 
with  bloodshot  eyes  and  speaking  with  despair,  ''you 
may  be  a  brave  man,  but  I  am  no  friend  of  yours.  I 
am  not  anybody's  friend.  Damn  me,  he  who  takes 
Fortino  for  a  friend  is  cursed." 

"  At  least  come  in,"  said  Rodrigo,  and  they  followed 
him  toward  the  place  of  the  altar,  a  movement  rather 
of  nervousness  than  of  purpose  —  for  the  sky  was  the 
roof  wherever  they  went. 

"  Don  Rodrigo,"  said  Clarita,  turning  her  eyes  on 
him  and  letting  the  rebozo  fall  to  her  shoulders  as  she 
stood,  like  a  figure  in  some  gray  stone,  before  him, 
"is  Vicente  here?" 

"  He  is  here,  little  one,"  said  he.  "  He  is  in  the 
prison  over  there." 

Whereat  her  eyes  filled  with  tears,  though  she  did 
not  hesitate,  but  spoke  as  before. 

"  I  have  brought  Fortino,  senor,  because  we  thought 
he  might  be  here,  and  if  he  had  not  been,  we  should 
have  gone  home.  Don  Rodrigo,  it  was  Fortino  who 
put  up  the  chain.  But  Fortino  is  not  a  traitor ;  he 
did  not  mean  it.  Fortino  is  loyal  and  very  good. 
He  was  told  that  it  was  you  he  was  to  stop.  You 


334  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

will  not  think  less  of  Fortino  because  he  would  have 
injured  you,  for  you  know  he  was  on  the  other  side. 
And  when  he  found  they  had  deceived  him,  he  was 
very  ill,  and  it  weighs  on  him  very  much.  And  I 
was — I  was  —  sorry  for  him,  for  it  weighed  on  him 
so.  I  saw  he  was  —  he  was  not  what  Vicente  might 
think  him ;  and  I  said  —  I  said  I  would  bring  him  — " 
she  faltered  and  looked  at  the  big  Fortino  —  "I  would 
bring  him  here,  and,  if  Vicente  were  here,  I  knew  you 
would  let  him  talk  to  him,  so  that  he  can  tell  Vicente 
that  he  did  not  mean  it.  This  will  be  a  great  happi 
ness  to  Fortino.  This  is —  this  is  why  I  brought  him, 
Don  Rodrigo." 

Rodrigo  was  awed  into  silence  by  the  simplicity  of 
that  wonderful  statement;  nor  did  it  strike  him  as  in 
congruous,  this  small  girl's  bringing  of  this  giant  over 
the  water.  He  stood  and  looked  at  her  as  she  gazed 
anxiously  up  at  him.  She  seemed  to  him  beautiful. 

"  Little  girl,"  sighed  he  at  last,  "  if  any  man  could 
refuse  you  this — alas!  he  would  be  no  more  a  man. 
I  think  I  read  that  you  came,  too,  because,  as  at 
other  times,  you  could  not  stay  away.  You  too  wish 
to  see  him?  " 

"  Is  he  comfortable,  senior,  and  is  he  where  he  can 
have  a  little  room  and  light  and  food,  and  where  he 
can  sleep?  " 

"  It  is  the  best  I  could  do,  Clarita.  He  has  all 
these  things." 

She  stood  in  strained  silence  for  a  time. 

"  Can  I  stay  here  in  the  church?  "  asked  she. 

"Why  —  it  is  a  dreary  and  a  hard  place." 

"  It  will  do.  Fortino  can  bring  food  from  the 
boat  and  watch  at  the  door." 

"  God  pity  me !  "  cried  Rodrigo.  "  You  too,  then, 
wish  to  stay  !  " 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  335 

"  I  do  not  want  to  go  away,  senor,"  said  she. 

"  But  how  will  you  sleep  —  how  will  you  live?  " 

He  knew  there  was  a  quick  fire  born  in  him  and 
that  his  heart  was  not  all  eagerness  that  she  should 
go  away. 

"  Have  you  forgotten,  senor,  that  we  are  very  poor 
here  by  the  lake  and  the  houses  are  little,  and  that 
I  have  slept  all  my  life  on  the  ground?  I  will  stay. 
I  cannot  go  away.  I  could  sleep,  senor,  if  I  must, 
on  the  rocks  outside." 

"  You  may  have  the  church,  Clarita,"  said  he, 
sadly;  "and  I  think  the  Virgin  will  forget  that  it  is 
ruins  and  come." 

"  I  knew  if  you  were  here,"  said  she,  "  you  would 
be  good  to  me.  I  am  not  afraid." 

"  I  shall  take  this  friend  now,"  said  the  jefet  "  to 
Vicente.  And  you  —  though  I  dread  it  —  you  too 
will  come?" 

"  No.  I  will  not  come.  And  I  believe  I  do  not 
want  him  to  know  that  I  am  here.  You  will  tell 
your  men  that  Vicente  is  not  to  know.  Fortino,  you 
are  not  to  tell  him  that  I  am  with  you.  For  if  he 
needs  me,  Don  Rodrigo,  I  know  you  will  come  and 
tell  me.  I  do  not  want  him  to  know,  for  it  would 
add  to  his  unhappiness.  He  would  be  afraid  for  me." 

The  two  went  out,  Rodrigo  leading,  and  Fortino 
following  silently  in  a  perspiration  but  without  any 
of  the  customary  flames  in  his  face.  She  came  to 
the  door,  wrapping  the  rebozo  round  her  head,  and 
sat  down  on  a  stone  and  watched  them  go,  her  eyes 
full  of  her  love  and  her  wretchedness.  She  had 
made  a  sacrifice  that  one  should  not  try  to  measure 
when  she  decided  she  should  not  go  also.  When 
she  saw  the  two  arrive  at  the  prison  she  cried  in  her 
heart : 


336  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

11  I,  too,  wish  much  to  see  him !  " 

They  felt  it  necessary  at  the  prison  to  search 
Fortino.  They  found  nothing.  Rodrigo  ordered 
one  of  the  guards  to  "accompany  the  fisherman  and 
be  present  at  the  interview.  He  himself  returned  to 
the  church.  The  girl  had  gone  inside.  She  was 
standing  by  the  far  wall,  wrapped  in  thought,  and 
he  came  near  her. 

"  Senor,"  she  said  with  emotion,  and  put  out  her 
hand  with  a  little  impulsive  movement  that  was  new 
to  him,  "  I  wish  to  tell  you  again  that  I  know  that  in 
your  heart  you  are  not  any  enemy  to  us,  only  that 
you  were  on  the  side  that  you  thought  right.  I  say 
this  because  I  can  see  that  you  are  oppressed  and  are 
sorry  for  me,  and  because  I  must  thank  you  again  for 
being  as  kind  to  him  as  you  can  be  —  and  to  me." 

He  took  the  hand  a  moment. 

"Have  I  been  kind  to  you,  Clarita?  It  seems  to 
me  I  have  been  only  cruel." 

"  You  are  kind,  indeed  you  are  kind  ! "  she  said, 
eagerly,  frankly,  with  the  tenderness  that  made  her 
greatly  fear  to  hurt  any  one. 

He  had  her  sit  down  on  a  smooth  stone  where  of 
old  priests  had  chanted.  He  himself  sat  down  a 
little  way  from  her. 

"  You  could  not  stay  away,"  he  said,  turning  his 
brown  eyes  and  knitted  brow  toward  her,  speaking 
musingly. 

"  No." 

"  You  would  have  come  had  it  been  the  sea  in 
stead  of  the  lake." 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  she,  "  for  the  sea  is  very 
wide.  I  should  have  wanted  to  try." 

He  was  silent  a  long  while.  He  was  borne  away 
on  a  stream  of  strong  deep  thought  and  emotion. 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  337 

"  Clarita,"  he  said,  after  a  time,  "  I  am  lost  again 
in  wonder  at  your  faithfulness.  You  do  not  know 
how  different  you  are  —  you  never  saw  the  world. 
If  it  had  half  of  your  steadfastness  it  would  be  the 
world  no  longer.  There  are  books  in  my  country 
that  are  full  of  stories  of  Mexican  faithlessness.  It 
is  a  habit,  and  a  bad  and  constant  one,  to  call  your 
people  faithless.  The  opinion  is  prated  much,  and 
believed  much.  I  even  had  it  myself.  Well,  I  have 
seen  Mexican  treachery.  There  are  villains  here  — 
there  are  villains  everywhere.  But  there  are  true 
ones  too.  I  have  seen  a  faith,  a  strength  of  soul, 
on  the  lake's  border  such  as  I  never  knew  in  any 
other  part  of  the  wide  world.  Let  my  nation  plume 
itself  no  more  on  honesty.  I  think  there  are  many 
at  its  very  head  who  could  learn  the  art  of  life  from 
you." 

"  Senor,  you  rate  me  very  much  too  high.  I  do 
not  want  you  to  think  thus  of  me.  Tell  me  some 
thing  about  your  life  before  you  came  here.  It  must 
have  been  sad." 

She  said  it  with  so  much  tenderness  that  he  was 
drawn  out  of  himself.  He  had  come  to  that  time 
when  a  man  would  throw  himself  away  to  empty  his 
heart. 

"  A  part  of  it  was  bitter,  little  one.  How  could 
you  understand  that  another  woman  was  untrue?" 

"  I  have  seen  women,"  said  she,  thinking  of  Pepa, 
"  of  whom  I  was  afraid." 

She  arose  and  came  and  sat  nearer,  a  very  natural 
movement. 

"  Tell  me,"  said  she. 

He  waited  some  minutes. 

"  I  lived  in  a  city,"  he  began,  "  in  the  east,  and 
my  father  was  a  man  of  wealth.  I  was  a  little  wild 

22 


338  A   DREAM   OF  A    THRONE 

of  spirit,  Clarita,  and  I  went  away  from  home  and 
travelled  over  the  west.  In  a  western  city  I  met 
a  girl  with  whom  I  thought  I  fell  in  love.  Well 
—  it  is  like  so  many  other  stories.  There  is  no  need 
to  tell  it  all.  She  was  beautiful  —  or  I  thought  she 
was.  I  think  it  was  her  eyes  that  won  me  —  large 
gray  eyes.  I  gave  her  everything,  my  heart  and  my 
faith.  I  believed  in  her  as  though  she  were  myself. 
All  my  life  I  had  seen  the  worship  of  money  and 
hated  it.  Because  I  had  some  wealth  I  had  seen  the 
falseness  of  many  friends.  Well,  at  the  deepest 
moment  I  saw  hers  also.  That  is  all,  little  girl. 
There  is  no  romance  in  this,  just  dull  bitterness. 
She  may  have  thought  she  cared  for  me.  It  was 
really  the  money;  for  she  went  away  and  married 
some  one  else  who  had  more  of  it.  This  turned  me 
against  everything.  I  was  always  extreme  in  my 
acts  and  feelings.  I  thought  for  a  time  that  every 
one  was  false.  So  I  wanted  to  go  away  and  bury 
myself.  I  came  down  here,  for  I  knew  it  was  a 
country  different  and  full  of  solitudes  as  well  as  of 
turmoil.  That  was  eight  years  ago.  I  was  sad  nearly 
all  of  the  time ;  I  could  not  forget  her.  I  was  glad 
to  be  with  another  race  and  learn  another  language. 
At  last  I  knew  she  was  unworthy  of  so  much  sorrow, 
and  I  became  more  careless.  I  have  led  a  pointless, 
purposeless  life.  I  had  come  to  Guadalajara  in  a 
sudden  new  spirit  of  action.  I  wanted  to  fight.  I 
joined  the  little  army  there  and  in  some  troubles 
some  of  the  city's  gendarmes  were  killed.  So  they 
policed  many  of  the  streets  for  a  long  time  with 
soldiers.  This  is  how  I  chanced  to  be  a  gendarme 
for  a  time.  Then  one  day  there  came  into  my  life 
a  strange  little  Mexican  child  with  a  blue  rebozo  over 
her  head." 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  339 

She  said  nothing  for  a  long  time,  looking  at  the 
ruins  scattered  on  the  floor ;  there  was  the  flush  of 
pink  slightly  in  her  face,  but  the  dimples  were  no 
more  there,  for  in  these  days  she  did  not  smile. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  she  at  last,  haltingly,  and  paused 
for  another  silence.  She  added  after  a  time : 

"  Was  she  very  beautiful,  this  other  woman?" 

"  She  seemed  so  once." 

"  Was  she  —  was  she  —  very  white?  " 

"  Yes,  she  was  very  white." 

Clarita  drew  the  rebozo  more  closely  about  her  and 
sighed. 

"  And  she  was  tall,  too,"  she  said  after  a  time ; 
"  tall  and  white  and  —  different.  Ah,  no  wonder  you 
loved  her !  " 

"  Clarita !  "  cried  he,  "  to  be  tall  and  white  is  noth 
ing  !  I  could  love  these  things  no  more.  Don't  you 
know,  don't  you  know,  strange  dream-child  that  you 
are,  what  alone  it  is  that  I  could  come  to  love?  " 

"  Then,"  said  she,  turning  a  little  away,  "  if  it  was 
not  right  for  you  to  care  for  the  other,  perhaps  God 
had  a  purpose  in  all  of  it." 

"  I  have  denied  it  many  times,"  said  he.  "  There 
was  no  purpose  for  me,  no  thread  to  follow  out.  I 
seemed  drifting.  I  said  to  myself,  there  was  under 
my  life  none  of  that  power  of  fate  that  is  the  source 
of  the  deeds  of  other  men.  But  I  was  wrong.  Alas  ! 
I  might  have  known  it,  seven  years  ago,  for  even  then, 
once,  I  felt  the  stream  that  was  bearing  me.  And 
now  —  now  I  am  blind  no  longer." 

"  I  too,"  she  said  falteringly,  trembling,  not  daring 
to  look  at  him,  "  have  felt  thus.  Tell  me  more  of 
that  other  girl  you  love.  I  know  you  are  very  sorry 
she  was  not  good,  and  I  —  I  too  am  sorry." 

"  Clarita !  "  he  said  arising,  "  I  am   sorry  no  more. 


340  A   DREAM    OF  A    THRONE 

I  wanted  to  tell  you  what  it  is  that  I  could  love  — 
faith,  truth.  The  peace  that  I  wished  to  find  in  the 
world  when  I  came  away,  did  not  satisfy  me.  It  must 
be  in  a  person,  in  a  woman.  And  at  last  I  came 
here ;  and  I  found  that  the  beauty  of  this  place  had 
embodied  itself  in  a  girl ;  and  the  fact  came  over  me 
with  such  depth  of  knowledge  and  such  sweetness  of 
emotion  that  at  first  it  was  as  though  it  had  been 
with  me  always.  Clarita,  by  this  very  confession  I 
am  lost.  My  miserable  state  is  this:  That  I  have 
found  my  first  love  was  not  love  but  shallowness, 
that,  having  grown  older,  love,  the  true,  the  living, 
has  come  to  me.  In  this  I  am  haunted  and  crushed 
by  the  knowledge  that  I  am  bound  to  a  course  that 
is  anguish  to  her  I  love,  may  be  worse  than  anguish." 

She  had  arisen  in  deep  emotion,  and  had  walked 
away  toward  the  church's  far  corner,  whither  he  fol 
lowed  her.  There  were  hewn  stones,  broken,  lying 
at  her  feet,  and  the  wall  was  damp  and  black.  She 
put  her  arms  up  on  it,  and  leaned  her  face  against 
them,  burying  it,  and  stood,  her  breast  heaving. 

"  I  have  not  dared  to  ask  before,"  she  said,  her 
voice  coming  unsteadily,  "  but  you  must  tell  me. 
What  are  you  going  —  what  will  be  done  with  — 
him?" 

He  sat  down  on  a  stone  and  held  his  head  in  his 
hands. 

"  You  would  not  demand  of  me  that  I  free  him, 
after  —  after  all  that  happened  —  and  be  called  a 
traitor." 

She  lifted  her  face  from  the  rebozo  and  looked  at 
him,  and  a  great  burst  of  pity  came  from  her,  so  that 
she  started  to  him,  but  turned  back  and  buried  her 
face  again  against  the  wall  as  though  she  were  a  very 
little  child. 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  341 

"  Oh,  it  is  not  mine  to  demand  !  "  she  said.  "  I  am 
not  anything —  I  cannot  —  I  cannot !  " 

"  Clarita,"  he  replied,  "  it  is  yours,  and  yours  only. 
For  I  am  powerless.  You  think  yourself  weak.  You 
have  in  you  the  power  that  is  greatest  and  strongest  of 
all  earth's  powers.  And  because  I  trust  you  —  because 
I  love  you  —  I  would  believe  that  whatever  you  did 
or  said  was  right.  I  do  honestly  think  that  if  you 
told  me  I  did  wrong  to  keep  your  brother,  and  asked 
me  to  let  him  free,  I  should  walk  now  to  the  prison 
and  open  the  door,  though  I  ruined  my  life  by  doing 
it.  Speak,  little  one  —  the  moment  is  yours." 

She  looked  at  him  fearfully.  He  had  not  raised 
his  head.  She  was  holding  her  breath.  Her  rebozo 
had  fallen  again  to  her  shoulders,  and  the  flood  of 
hair  was  unbound.  Her  face  seemed  almost  pure 
white  in  the  light  from  the  gaping  roof;  every  drop 
of  blood  forsook  it.  There  was  absolute  silence  for 
many  seconds.  Her  brain  began  to  burn  with  mad 
thoughts.  She  closed  her  eyes.  She  raised  her 
small  hand  above  her  head,  and  grasped  at  the  damp 
stones.  There  came,  then,  from  the  walls  of  the 
prison,  the  clear  soft  notes  of  a  dove,  that  inimitable 
sound  that  carried  in  it  all  nature,  all  beauty,  the  very 
meaning  of  the  morning.  And  the  sunlight,  pouring 
through  the  open  roof,  was  coming  slowly  down  the 
western  wall. 

She  gasped  and  cleared  her  brain,  and  her  old  self 
came  back. 

"  I  cannot  —  O  Holy  Mother  !  —  I  cannot !  "  cried 
she.  "  Don  Rodrigo,  I  could  not  wish  you  to  do 
this." 

"  I  knew,"  said  he,  "  that  you  could  not." 

"  What  will  happen  to  him,  Don  Rodrigo?  " 

"  It  is  beyond   my  power  to  decide,"  he   replied. 


342  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

"  I  have  sent  a  message  to  the  governor,  and  the  an 
swer  could  not  come,  at  earliest,  before  to-night.  It 
must  be  as  the  governor  says." 

Strangely  enough,  she  had  never  thought  of  the 
worst.  She  did  not  think  of  it  now;  she  dreamed 
only  of  some  possible  prison  where  she  could  come, 
at  least,  and  sit  sometimes  outside  the  door. 

"  Clarita,"  and  he  arose  again  and  came  near,  "  you 
cannot  love  me.  I  would  not  dare  to  ask  it.  I  am  a 
monster  to  you.  But,  hopeless  as  it  is,  and  bound  as 
I  am,  I  will  open  my  heart  once  for  all.  I  love  you 
as  I  never  could  love  any  other  being.  I  shall  love 
you  till  I  die." 

She  sobbed. 

"  And  the  other,"  murmured  she,  "  she  who  was 
tall  and  white.  O  Don  Rodrigo  !  you  are  blind,  you 
do  not  know  —  for  Clarita  is  little,  Clarita  is  ignorant. 
In  your  own  land  they  call  us  savages.  That  we  can 
be  true  —  this  is  all  we  have,  and  this,  to  your  people, 
is  nothing.  Ask  of  your  heart,  and  do  not  trust  it, 
but  go  away  when  all  this  pain  is  ended,  and  forget 
me,  or  remember  me  only  as  the  little  brown  one 
who  merely  knew  to  follow  Vicente,  and  stay  by  the 
prison  where  he  is  —  " 

He  could  endure  no  more.  Against  his  will  he 
seized  her  in  his  arms  and  held  her. 

"  There  is  another  still,"  she  sobbed,  "  for  I  have 
not  been  blind  —  Pepa  is  here  !  " 

He  let  her  from  him.  He  was  suddenly  cold.  His 
face  lost  color.  The  remorse  swept  back  on  him. 

"Where?  "  said  he. 

"  In  the  boat." 

"Why  did  she,  too,  not  come  here?  " 

"  She  would  not."  Clarita  was  burying  her  face 
again.  "  She  sulked  in  the  canoa." 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  343 

After  some  time  of  silence  he  shook  off  the  depres 
sion  Pepa's  name  had  caused. 

"  You  yourself  must  know,"  said  he,  "  that  there 
can  be  nothing  between  rne  and  this  woman.  God 
pity  her  —  I  never  loved  her." 

"  But  she  loves  you." 

"  For  which,"  he  replied,  biting  his  lip,  "  Heaven 
be  merciful  to  her.  I  cannot  speak  of  these,  these 
who  are  nothing  to  me.  I  can  think  only  of  you. 
Yet  am  I  a  monster  to  you ;  tell  me  it  is  so.  Even 
thus  your  voice  must  have  some  soothing  quality 
in  it." 

She  broke  down  and  sank  to  the  ground.  He 
sprang  to  her,  unable  to  restrain  himself.  He  kneeled 
and  held  her  with  his  arms  round  her  shoulders  and 
her  head  against  his  breast. 

"  Then  tell  me  only  this,"  he  said.  "  If,  when  this 
horror  is  done,  there  be  at  last,  by  some  impossible 
chance,  a  way  that  leaves  me  free  and  makes  me  not 
the  cause  of  your  greater  grief — could  you  then,  oh 
my  heart !  come  to  tell  me  that  you  loved  me?  " 

She  was  shaking  against  his  breast,  weeping.  She 
did  not  struggle ;  she  rested  there  a  brief  moment. 
In  that  moment  they  were  united,  as  truly  as  though 
the  old  days  of  that  old  chapel  had  come  back  and 
the  priests  were  there  and  the  boys  in  white  swung 
censers  that  cast  sweet  fragrance  to  the  vaulted  roof. 
But  she  did  not  admit  it.  Her  sobs  ceased  and  her 
grief  came  back,  and  the  fear  of  the  future.  She 
arose  as  though  frightened,  wrapping  the  rebozo  round 
her. 

"  Oh  !  I  cannot  tell !  "  she  cried.  "  We  must  wait. 
I  cannot  speak  —  I  cannot  think  —  " 

She  went  away,  out  of  the  church,  and  nearly  all 
that  day  she  sat  on  the  rocks  in  the  most  solitary 


344  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

part  of  the  island,  where  the  autumn  sun  found  light 
in  her  auburn  locks  and  the  water  below  her  glistened. 

Fortino,  too,  that  great  and  wretched  giant  was 
seated  on  the  rocks ;  but  on  those  just  outside  the 
central  prison  door.  Fortino  had  not  entered.  When 
they  had  searched  him  before  allowing  him  to  cross 
the  moat,  he  had  stood  and  looked  at  the  moat  itself, 
at  the  walls,  at  all  the  gloomy,  depressing  place. 
Then  they  had  told  him  he  could  enter. 

11  Is  he  in  there?  "  asked  Fortino  hoarsely. 

"  Yes." 

He  could  not  realize  it. 

"  He  is  in  this  —  this  hell?  "  muttered  he. 

They  assured  him  Vicente  was  within. 

He  stood  like  a  monolith  for  many  minutes  and 
stared  in  tragedy  of  spirit  into  the  place. 

"  Here !  "  he  said  in  a  smothered  growl  of  grief. 
"  In  this—  in  this!  And  I,  I  did  it !" 

They  were  in  much  wonder,  watching  him.  His 
face  suddenly  blazed  red  and  he  turned  red  eyes  on 
them. 

"  No  !  "  he  cried,  "  not  yet !  I  cannot  yet  enter 
here.  Let  my  damned  soul  first  grow  to  it !  " 

He  backed  off  some  twenty  yards  and  sat  down  on 
a  rock  and  stared  at  the  prison's  door  for  eleven  mis 
erable  hours  without  food  or  drink,  without  uttering 
a  word  or  moving  his  eyes.  The  noon  beat  down 
heat  on  him.  The  afternoon  cast  his  shadow  longer 
and  longer  on  the  stony  earth.  The  evening  breeze 
came  and  cooled  some  of  the  hot  sweat  from  his  face. 
The  sun  went  down  in  a  sea  of  red  light,  and  the 
night  came.  They  had  given  Vicente  his  supper  and 
the  prisoner  had  retired  to  the  last  of  the  four  cells, 
when  Fortino  finally  arose. 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  345 

"  Perhaps  I  can  do  it  now,"  said  he. 

They  led  him  across  the  moat  and  through  the 
passage  into  the  patio,  thence  to  the  door  of  the  first 
cell.  He  fixed  his  eyes  ahead  of  him.  He  strove 
with  prodigious  effort  not  to  see  any  of  the  ruins. 
He  halted  in  a  profound  revery  at  the  door. 

"  Come  in,"  said  the  guard  who  was  to  accompany 
him,  "  and  follow  me." 

He  started,  awakened,  and  plunged  into  the  first 
cell  after  his  leader.  The  latter  held  a  torch  which 
cast  flickering  light  through  the  apartments,  so  that 
shadows  and  flames  seemed  leaping  and  sporting 
among  the  ruins  like  ghosts.  Fortino  held  his  breath 
and,  suffused  with  misery,  stumbled  into  the  second 
cell.  The  guard  pointed  to  the  door.  Fortino  put 
his  hand  on  it,  and  it  creaked  and  swung  open.  He 
entered,  followed  by  the  other,  and  it  emitted  a  dull 
sound  as  it  closed  after  them.  Into  the  third  cell  from 
the  fourth  came  the  dim  light  of  Vicente's  candle. 
The  huge  man  paused  and  feared  to  enter.  He  came 
to  the  door  and  stumbled  on  a  stone,  and  suddenly 
burst  out  in  a  thunderous  oath. 

"  What  is  it,  man?  "  said  a  calm  voice  in  the  fourth 
cell.  "  Come  in.  Defile  not  your  mouth  with 
blasphemies.  There  are  others  more  unhappy  than 
you,  whoever  you  be." 

Fortino  came  and  stood  at  the  door  and  looked. 
The  guard  was  with  him.  Vicente  was  seated  on 
the  blankets  with  the  light  on  the  floor  before  him. 
He  was  not  looking  at  the  door,  he  was  looking  into 
the  flame  of  the  candle.  His  face's  profile  was  turned 
toward  Fortino  and  the  light  cut  it  out  of  the  gloom 
as  out  of  rock.  It  held  a  peace  in  its  sadness. 
Fortino  could  not  go  further.  He  stood  and  gazed. 
The  prolonged  silence  led  Vicente  to  turn  his  head 


346  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

He  had  thought  it  only  a  guard.  He  saw  the  un 
mistakable  great  form.  He  arose  and  stood  as 
still  as  the  other,  and  fastened  a  deep  eye  on  the 
giant. 

"  Well,"  he  began,  "  this  is  Fortino.  This  is  he  who 
fished  and  fought.  Thus  far  would  my  memory  go. 
I  will  say  to  myself  and  mayhap  come  to  believe,  that 
after  Ocotlan  Fortino  died.  Yes,  this  belief  will  I 
carry  to  my  grave.  It  will  be  more  satisfying.  Then 
are  you,  man,  who  come  where  I  am  a  prisoner  and 
stand  in  the  door  of  my  cell  at  night,  -the  ghost  of 
that  old  Fortino  who  fished  and  fought  and  died,  and 
was  a  friend  to  me?  Or  are  you  that  other  man  who 
wielded  your  strength  when  you  were  dead  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Body  of  God  !  "cried  the  great  one,  coming  a 
little  nearer.  "  You,  then,  too,  curse  me  with  it !  For 
which,  hear  the  old  lime-kiln  say,  I  blame  you  not  — 
rather  would  bless  you  for  it!  What  did  I  do?  I 
came  across  the  lake  to  find  you.  Why?  To  enter 
your  prison,  wherever  in  Purgatory  it  might  be ! 
What  has  the  day  been  to  me?  I  sat  through  it  all 
outside  the  door  with  hell-fire  in  me,  because  I  dared 
not  come  in.  I  have  now  come  in.  Why?  That 
you  may  trample,  if  you  so  desire,  my  swine's  body 
under  your  feet,  or  cut  my  cursed  flesh  in  strips.  I 
am  a  madman,  an  animal,  a  fool.  I  am  any  one,  or 
all  of  these  things,  or  any  other  such  as  have  not  rea 
son  or  responsibility  or  blame.  But  one  thing  I  am 
not,  so  help  me  or  so  slay  my  soul  whatever  gods 
there  be  or  mothers  or  sons  of  gods  or  eternal  dam 
nations  —  I  am  not  a  traitor  !  What  did  they  tell  me? 
That  I  was  doing  it  for  you.  I  did  sweat  blood  with 
that  great  hope.  I  did  pour  out  my  soul  drop  by 
drop  while  the  iron  was  heating.  Who  conceived 
the  deed?  I  —  and  my  soul  is  nlnv.dy  \\-ith  the  devil 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  347 

for  it.  Who  put  me  at  it  and  told  me  you  were  wait 
ing  in  the  plaza  and  your  enemy  was  galloping  up  the 
river  road?  Who  but  that  son  of  the  damned,  Quiroz, 
who  beat  me  on  the  back  and  made  me  a  maniac  ? 
Senor,  I  am  done ;  I  say  no  more.  I  blame  you  not. 
You  were  deeply  wronged  and  your  greatness  is 
ruined.  Hate  me  —  si,  hate  me !  I  long  to  be 
loathed  —  already  am  I  damned.  I  shall  carry  away 
with  me  a  never  dead  faith  in  you.  I  shall  want  and 
need  no  reconciliation  or  soothing  from  you.  I  shall 
tramp  out.  Would  that  my  big  hulk  could  shake 
down  these  walls  !  May  nobody  ever  remember  this 
bungling  giant !  Good-by,  sir  !  " 

He  turned  about,  having  been  in  his  speech  like 
some  awful  engine,  and  made  for  the  door. 

"  Stop !  "  cried  Vicente.  He  came  to  the  other 
with  quick  steps  and  laid  his  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  What  do  you  want?"  growled  Fortino  in  hoarse 
ness. 

"  To  tell  you,  Fortino,  that  I  am  as  ready  to  see 
that  I  judged  you  wrongly  as  you  were  to  help  me. 
Then  this  great  form  has  in  it  a  heart  as  great ;  and 
this  is  what  I  had  believed  of  you.  Why,  man,  there 
is  a  relief  comes  to  me  with  this  news,  that,  com 
pared  to  my  grief  before,  is  like  happiness.  Forgive 
me  my  bad  thoughts.  I  am  grown  morbid.  I  seem 
to  have  been,  too,  peculiarly  blind.  Nothing  but  the 
sight  of  you  yourself  in  the  midst  of  the  treachery 
could  have  made  me  doubt  you.  Tell  me  not,  man, 
to  forget  you.  Call  me  rather  a  friend  who  shall 
never  forget.  You  come  in  the  darkest  hour  when 
the  world  seemed  rotten  and  traitors  the  inhabitants 
of  it.  You  walk  in  on  my  loneliness  and  my  despair, 
and  prove  to  me  that  honesty  still  lives.  Fortino, 
when  you  can  measure  the  worth  of  this  to  me,  you 


348  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

can  measure  your  own  good  and  come  to  perceive 
that  you  have  undone  the  mistake  you  made." 

The  perspiration  again  rolled  down  Fortino's 
countenance. 

"  But  the  mistake  got  you  in,"  muttered  he,  glar 
ing  about  at  the  walls,  "  and  the  good  will  not  get  you 
out." 

Vicente  led  him  to  the  light.  Fortino's  desire  to 
go  was  overcome.  The  two  sat  down  on  the  stone 
floor  with  the  candle  between  them  casting  its  white 
light  up  over  the  clear  strong  features  of  the  dreamer 
and  over  the  coarse  visage  of  the  giant,  whereon  the 
sweat  glistened  in  beads.  They  talked  thus  for  a  long 
time,  the  presence  of  the  guard  not  hindering  them. 
And  when  at  last,  more  than  an  hour  later,  they 
separated,  it  was  a  somewhat  soothed  yet  rather  a 
broken  old  giant  that  came  out,  crossed  the  stony 
space  to  the  church  and,  blocking  its  wide  doorway 
with  his  form,  slept. 


CHAPTER  VI 

NEARLY  all  morning  Josefa  Aranja  remained 
under  the  thatch  of  the  canoa.  She  sat  on  a  rude 
chair  that  was  on  the  boat's  bottom.  She  held  her  head 
on  her  hand,  and  her  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  ends  of 
the  rafters  where  they  came  down  over  the  sides  and 
the  thatch  let  in  light  by  chinks.  There  were  no  sighs 
from  her;  neither  did  her  face  bespeak  any  grief. 
But  it  was  a  face  extremely  intense  with  other  expres 
sions.  She  saw  little,  planning  to  see  little.  Of  such 
things  as  there  were  to  hear,  she  heard  all. 

She  arose  and  walked  back  and  forth  over  the 
space  of  two  or  three  steps  under  the  thatch,  without 
coming  out  from  either  end  of  it.  She  stretched  her 
arms  up  over  her  head  for  exercise  and  dug  her 
fingers  into  that  soft  roof,  and  presently  pulled  out 
handfuls  of  it  and  threw  the  material  on  the  floor. 
She  laughed  to  herself.  She  frowned.  She  sat  down 
again  and  waited.  She  arose  and  came  out  from 
under  the  roof  and  was  in  that  part  of  the  vessel 
which  was  farthest  away  from  land,  the  bow.  She 
had  her  back  to  the  island  and,  leaning  over  the 
anchor  chain,  gazed  dreamily  away  across  the  lake 
to  Chapala's  pigmy  towers.  She  gazed  thus  for 
more  than  half  an  hour,  and  the  breeze  blew  over  her 
face.  She  still  heard  everything  and  the  face  was  as 
intense  as  before.  She  sang  a  little  after  a  time, 
softly  to  herself  or  to  the  ripples ;  which  ripples 
lapped  and  kissed  under  her  face  and  were  singing  a 


350  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

song  like  hers,  being  old  ripples  round  an  old  island 
which  they  lapped  and  kissed  when  Quetzalcoatl  was 
here  in  truth. 

"  When  Quetzalcoatl  bade  the  tribes  farewell 
The  tog  lay  thick  and  gray  o'er  all  the  sea. 
The  tide  crept  on  o'er  sinking  rock  and  shell 
And  sluggish  waves  beat  slow  and  ceaselessly. 
On  the  enchanted  ground 
Gathered  they  trembling  round, 
Where,  in  that  god-made,  glistening  boat  stood  he  ! " 

Having  sung  all  the  song,  slowly,  softly,  not 
thinking  of  it,  she  suddenly  turned  her  head  with  a 
quick  furtive  movement  and  scanned  in  one  sweep 
ing  glance  the  whole  of  the  island,  her  eyes  piercing 
and  deep  and  her  face  flushed.  There  was  a  soldier 
or  two  whom  she  did  not  know,  high  up  on  the  sum 
mit.  There  was  another  carrying  a  bag  of  some 
thing  up  the  steep  road.  At  the  tower  by  her  boat 
two  others  were  doing  something  with  provisions 
that  as  yet  had  not  been  removed  to  the  top.  One 
of  the  sailors  of  the  canoa  in  which  she  had  come 
(Fortino  had  engaged  the  two  in  Tizapan,  strangers 
to  him)  was  seated  yonder  on  the  rocks  at  the  shore, 
still  eating  tortillas.  The  other  was  here,  by  the 
boat.  There  was  nothing  else  to  be  seen,  save  rocks 
and  cacti,  sky  and  lake.  A  frown  gathered  on  her 
forehead.  She  pressed  her  teeth  tightly  together 
and  turned  away  to  the  water.  Then  she  sang  again 
and  at  length  flashed  her  old  smile  suddenly  at 
nothing. 

"  He  will  come,"  said  she. 

She  waited  another  hour.  No  one  came.  She 
frowned  then  again,  blackly,  and  went  in  under  the 
thatch,  where  she  sat  down  and  stayed  as  still  as  rev- 
ery  itself,  resting  her  head  on  her  hand  and  looking 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  351 

at  the  chinks  of  light.  She  was,  in  her  heart,  rest 
less  in  the  extreme.  She  was  too  wild  for  much 
waiting.  It  was  possible  they  had  not  told  him,  yet 
she  would  hurt  herself  in  the  perverse  way  of  love  by 
believing  that  he  knew  she  was  there.  She  wanted 
to  leap  out  and  range  that  rocky  spot  and  be,  with 
her  life  and  her  smile,  mistress  of  it.  But  she  stayed 
doggedly  in  the  boat.  She  would  not  go  out,  not 
she,  if  she  sat  there  till  she  died  —  at  least  thus  she 
thought  for  a  time.  But  Pepa's  thoughts  and  pur 
poses  seemed  ever  born  of  her  blood,  not  of  her 
brain.  And  blood  flows  in  varying  ways. 

Rodrigo  above,  thought  of  her  during  that  day,  in 
gpite  of  his  new  great  thoughts  of  another.  He  even 
felt  a  pity  for  her ;  for  which  she  would  have  given 
him  no  thanks.  She  would  have  preferred  that  he 
feel  simply  cold,  which  at  times  he  did.  He  set  his 
teeth  and  his  will.  What  had  he  to  do  with  this 
woman?  He  was  then  weighed  suddenly  with  re 
morse  ;  for  he  was  the  cause,  though  not  willingly, 
of  her  treachery.  He  struggled  long  between  a  stern 
will  against  seeing  her  and  some  half  morbid  belief 
that  he  owed  her  at  least  a  meeting  and  a  little  recog 
nition.  But  the  latter  would  be  useless,  absolutely 
without  point.  Better  let  it  stand  as  it  was;  he  could 
do  nothing  for  her.  Yet  the  half  morbid  idea  lived. 

A  small,  material,  prosaic  fact  decided  the  matter. 
At  four  of  the  afternoon,  when  all  the  other  hours 
since  the  morning's  middle  had  been  passed  in  a 
hard,  stern  silence  by  him,  and  in  a  half  sullen  bury 
ing  of  herself  by  her,  it  chanced  that,  whether  he 
would  or  not,  he  had  to  descend  to  the  ruins  of  the 
pier  and  the  tower  to  examine  and  give  directions 
concerning  the  last  of  such  cargo  as  his  two  vessels 
had  brought.  Possibly  the  half  morbid  idea  had 


352  A    DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

some  weight  in  leading  him  down.  But  that  idea 
died  as  he  went ;  and  he  was  as  silent  and  as  stern 
descending  as  he  had  been  above. 

There  lay  the  bungling  old  vessel  under  him  with 
the  round  tower  standing,  black,  near  it.  The  face 
of  the  bay  was  moving  from  north  to  south  with  the 
never  progressive  movement  of  countless  small  waves. 
He  looked  only  once  at  the  boat,  while  he  wound  his 
way  down ;  after  that  he  saw  it  no  more.  At  the 
bottom  he  strode  across  the  space  artificially  flat 
tened  by  old-time  convicts,  and  came  upon  the  rock 
whereon  stood  the  tower,  entering  it  like  a  gloomy 
and  haunted  one,  instead  of  with  his  natural  lightness 
of  step.  But  a  fierce  power  emanated  from  him  ami 
he  examined  the  bags  of  food  and  ordered  his  t\\»> 
men  up  with  them  in  a  tone  that  was  new.  Each 
took  a  load  and  departed,  climbing  the  steep.  Rod- 
rigo  remained  in  the  tower  till  they  should  return, 
feeling  himself  foolishly  exasperated  at  doing  so. 
He  went  and  sat  down  in  the  high  arched  southern 
doorway. 

This  tower  has  been  called  round.  Such  is  the 
first  effect  on  the  eye.  It  is  really  octagonal,  of  thick 
stone  walls.  In  each  of  four  of  the  eight  sides  is  a 
very  large  entrance,  arched  and  leaving  a  good  third 
of  the  octagon  open  to  the  airs  of  the  lake.  There 
are  mediaeval  looking  slits  in  the  other  four  sides. 
The  roof  is  round  indeed,  being  the  half  of  a  sphere, 
with  no  pillars.  The  rock  on  which  this  edifice 
stands  is  just  large  enough  for  it,  and  juts  into  the 
lake ;  so  that  the  doorway  wherein  Rodrigo  sat  was 
over  the  water.  Whereas  this  was  the  southern  door 
it  was  the  northern  one  opposite  and  behind  him  that 
gave  view  to  the  vessel  lying  a  few  yards  distant.  As 
always,  the  occupant  of  that  vessel  had  heard  all  that 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  353 

there  was  to  hear.  Rodrigo  was  sitting  staring  at 
the  water  when  a  girl  in  a  red  dress  came  and  looked 
in  at  the  door  behind  him.  She  caught  her  breath, 
raised  her  hands,  and  put  them  up  on  either  side  of 
the  doorway  and  stood.  She  bit  her  lip.  She 
flushed  hot  and  was  immediately  pale.  Rodrigo  did 
not  move.  She  sighed  a  soft  gentle  sigh.  Rodrigo 
continued  staring  at  the  lake.  She  disappeared, 
then,  simply  stepping  a  little  to  the  west  and,  with 
the  wall  between  her  and  him,  stood  on  the  rock's 
narrow  ledge  over  the  waves. 

The  two  soldiers  were  returning.  They  entered, 
and  thejefe  told  them  where  to  put  the  rest  of  such 
things  as  were  to  be  taken  up.  The  two  gathered  up 
the  last  of  the  cargo  and  went  away  with  it.  The 
tower's  floor  was  as  bare  as  its  time-eaten  walls. 
Rodrigo  had  arisen,  and  was  standing  in  the  middle 
of  it.  There  came  the  soft,  dreamy  notes  of  a  little 
song  from  outside,  sung  as  to  one's  self,  carelessly,  as 
might  sing  a  maiden  sewing  in  her  room  or  wreathing 
cherry  blossoms  idly. 

"  In  such  fair  bark  did  Quetzalcoatl  go, 
Watching  his  people  on  the  lessening  shore. 
And  were  they  human  eyes  that  watched  them  so  ? 
His  face,  his  form,  a  god's  resembled  more  ! 
White  robes  clung  round  his  frame 
Lit  like  a  winding  flame  — 
While  all  the  winds  went  dancing  on  before  !  " 

He  was  transfixed.  The  song  floated  in  so  gently, 
so  purely.  He  could  see  the  black-hulled  vessel 
lying  a  little  below  him,  with  its  mast  rising,  slim 
and  naked,  as  high  as  his  head.  He  set  his  jaws 
hard.  He  would  not  go  to  her;  he  would  stride 
away.  But  it  was  too  late.  She  had  taken  a  step,  a 
careless,  idle  one.  It  chanced  to  bring  her  to  the 


354  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

*edge  of  rocks  just  outside  the  door.  She  was  indeed 
wreathing  something  as  she  sang,  some  kind  of  green 
branch  with  white  flowers,  whereon  her  eyes  were 
fastened.  She  halted  in  beautiful  unconsciousness, 
with  the  door  framing  her  complete,  slender  figure, 
the  water  and  the  vessel  and  the  rocks  for  a  back 
ground  ;  and  very  far  away  were  Chapala's  two  white 
spires.  Her  profile  was  toward  him.  The  color  on 
her  cheek  was  delicate,  a  light  flush  alternating  with 
the  clear  white-brown  of  the  lighter  Mexicans.  She 
was  bareheaded  and  her  shining  black  hair  was 
smoothed  back  and  braided  to  her  waist. 

She  turned  her  head  a  little,  wreathing  the  flowers, 
and  changed  the  song: 

"White  is  the  sky  of  dawn  — as  white  her  breast; 
Blue  is  the  sky  of  noon  —  as  blue  her  eye ; 
Red  is  the  sunset  in  the  deep  red  west  — 
As  red  her  cheek  as  the  red  sunset  sky/' 

She  halted  with  a  little  jump  and  exclamation, 
startled,  suddenly  seeing  him. 

"  Oh  !  "  she  cried,  "  you  frightened  me." 

She  went  on  with  the  flowers.  It  did  not  win  him ; 
rather  it  sickened  him. 

"  Now  that  you  are  here,  Pepa,"  said  he,  with 
forced  manner,  after  they  had  been  silent  for  a  little, 
"here  in  this  bad  spot,  if  there  is  anything  I  can  do 
for  you,  let  me  do  it  and  be  free  to  ask.  At  least  I 
may  find  a  place  for  you  better  than  the  boat.  And 
do  you  "  —  he  had  some  grim  pleasure  in  saying  this, 
"  you  doubtless  came  also  —  to  see  Vicente?  " 

She  turned  dancing  eyes  on  him  and  swung  the 
wreath  she  had  made  carelessly  in  the  air.  She  said 
nothing. 

"  !  presume  you  may  see  him,"  continued  Rodrigo. 


A   DREAM    OF  A    THRONE  355 

"  I  do  not  want  to  see  him,"  said  she,  lightly,  like 
a  child,  and  coming  inside.  She  looked  at  the  walls. 
:t  What  a  good,  wild  old  place  !  "  cried  she,  clapping 
her  hands. 

"  For  what  is  the  wreath?  "  he  asked. 

Then  she  dazzled  him  with  that  old  smile,  and  said, 
frankly : 

"  For  you.  I  did  n't  think  of  it  before."  She 
laughed  a  rippling  laugh.  "  To  whom  should  a 
wreath  be  but  to  the  victor?  Don  Rodrigo,  if  you 
would  kneel  down  I  would  make  a  knight  out  of 
you  —  oh,  to  say  nothing  of  crowning  you  !  Seiior, 
you  did  exceeding  well.  And  the  island  is  a  good 
kingdom.  I  have  read  of  smaller  kingdoms  and 
worse.  Is  it  a  tingling  feeling  to  be  a  king?  No  — 
deeds  !  deeds  !  These  are  all  that  tingle  !  Oh,  senor 

—  do  you  know,  as  I  leaned  over  the  boat  and  looked 
just  now  at  the  water,  the  water  itself  was*  talking 
about  the  deeds  !    And  all  last  night  the  wind  laughed 
in  the  sail !  " 

"  The  wind  and  the  water,  then,  Pepa,  and  you  as 
well,  gather  more  happiness  from  the  deed  than  do 
any  others." 

"  Then  is  the  jefe  dreaming  bad  dreams?  Don 
Rodrigo,  is  there  come  some  canker  to  you  in  the 
midst  of  your  victories?  Away  with  it  —  kill  it  — 
think  not.  This  land  of  sun  was  never  made  for 
thought.  Feel  only  —  let  the  blood  rush  on.  Ha! 

—  you  arc  master  of  the  lake.     I  think  you  could  be 
governor  if  you  wished — general  —  king — emperor. 
Pretty  dream  !     No,  no,  Pepa  is  no  blind  one.    These 
things  dazzle  not  the   cold  race  of  the  north ;  and 
Don  Rodrigo  wandered  into  Mexico  with  a  sigh  upon 
his    lips.     Peace,   not  battles;    freedom,  not  power; 
quiet  and  the  deep  life,  not   empire ;   love  and  the 


356  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

dreams,  and  waters,  winds,  and  mountains — these, 
and  not  ambition.  Ah,  there  is  more  color  in  your 
Anglo-Saxon  face !  There  are  some  can  read  you 
aright.  And  these  things  are  higher  and  better." 

She  paused  and  mused,  and  went  on  with  that  little 
touch  of  sadness  that  came  so  much  into  her  words. 

"  Yes,  better  and  higher.  Blood  and  the  wildness, 
action  and  madness,  these  wear  away,  these  die.  And 
one  looks  for  that  which  shall  not  die ;  one  longs  for 
that  which  shall  live  on,  live  on  forever.  And  what 
is  it?  Ay  de  mi  !  —  who  knows?  Even  I  would  find 
it,  Pepa,  the  mad.  Even  I,  when  the  fever  and  the 
restlessness  are  gone,  shall  wander  on  the  earth  seek 
ing  something,  wondering  what  is  that  great,  beautiful 
thing  that  I  want,  and  when  will  it  come,  white  and  sat 
isfying.  Don  Rodrigo,  you  are  from  civilization  —  we 
are  savages.  To  you,  then,  it  may  come,  the  great 
white  thing  may  be  to  you.  To  us  —  to  me  who  am 
half  wild,  of  course  to  me  it  will  not  come,  and  I  shall 
go  on  wandering  round  the  borders  of  the  lake,  and 
die,  knowing  it  never.  Ay  de  mi  !  Strange  world  ! 
To  him  who  has  shall  be  given  —  so  the  wreath  is 
yours;  and  I,  who  have  not,  give  it  to  you.  This  is 
all  I  could  do  to  add  to  your  victory.  This  is  all  I 
ever  —  is  it  true  ?  —  is  it  all  I  ever  gave  to  you  ?  " 

"  This  is  not  all.  You  gave  to  me  first,  love.  Let 
me  make  no  excuses  and  plead  no  cause.  Till  the 
last  day  I  shall  hate  myself  that  I  let  you  give  it.  I 
do  not  love  you.  This  plainly,  once  for  all.  I  never 
loved  you.  So,  even  were  I  willing  (and  if  I  could  I 
might  yet  wish  to  repair  some  broken  things)  I  could 
give  you  nothing  in  return.  You  gave  me,  secondly, 
your  honesty  and  faithfulness,  —  rather  you  threw 
them  away  for  me.  For  this,  too,  I  shall  ever  feel  re 
morse.  I  should  perhaps  say  at  once,  coldly,  that  the 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  357 

deed  we  did  together  revolts  me.  This  is  all.  I 
come,  then,  to  the  iron  duty.  Tragedy  alone  can  be 
the  result  of  communication  between  us.  So  I  sever 
our  connection.  Wherefore  I  shall  go  through  life 
knowing  myself  hated  by  at  least  one.  But  I  see  no 
other  way.  And  one  last  thing  to  you, — you  were 
simply  mistaken.  You  were  not  wicked,  for  you  do 
not  know  wickedness.  I  shall  never  blame  you.  I 
shall  blame  myself.  I  shall  forget  that  part  of  you 
that  mistook.  I  shall  remember  only  that  part  that 
loved.  I  have  done.  Pepa,  I  can  never  speak  to 
you,  I  can  never  see  you  again." 

He  turned  and  went  toward  the  door.  She  stag 
gered.  Her  face  was  bloodless. 

"  This  —  this  is  the  end?  "  she  gasped. 

He  hesitated,  suffering  sharp  pain,  half  inclined  to 
turn  and  soften  the  parting.  He  went  on,  then,  out 
of  the  door  and  down  the  rock.  She  was  like  a  mad 
woman.  She  swayed  and  stumbled  to  the  door  after 
him.  It  swept  over  her  in  black  despair  —  all  that 
she  had  done  for  him,  all  that  she  had  thrown  away 
for  him,  the  fears  she  had  had  that  there  was  some 
thing  in  his  civilization  that  would  condemn  her,  the 
secret  knowledge  deep  in  herself  that  she  was  despi 
cable.  She  believed  in  that  moment  she  must  fall 
and  die.  She  cried  out,  stifled,  after  him : 

"  Rodrigo  —  Rodrigo  —  " 

He  began  to  climb.  She  came  out,  and,  seeming 
to  have  lost  her  mind,  crawled  slowly  down  the  rock 
where  she  might  easily  have  walked  or  run.  At  the 
bottom  she  stretched  out  her  arms  to  him,  and  cried 
his  name  again.  He  was  half  way  up,  sick  to  the 
bottom  of  his  soul.  She  sat  there  on  the  ground 
between  the  tower  and  the  boat,  and  watched  him  as 
he  went  higher  on  the  prison  road,  the  ripples  at  her 


358  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

back,  the  rocks  before  her,  the  sun  glistening  on  her 
shining  black  hair  and  her  red  dress,  her  eyes  raised. 
He  came  at  last  to  the  summit.  He  did  not  turn  or 
pause.  Going  on,  the  crest  of  the  island  hid  him ; 
he  was  gone. 

She  crept  to  the  boat  —  lost.  She  climbed  in  and 
lay  down  on  the  floor.  He  had  been  right.  He 
should  be  hated  by  one.  Such  was  her  nature. 
When  her  mind  somewhat  regained  its  powers,  the 
revulsion  came.  As  strong  as  her  love  had  been,  so 
strong  was  the  new  passion  —  ay,  stronger.  She  lay 
there,  seemingly  stupefied,  till  the  sun  went  down,  and 
the  night  came.  Her  brain  was  a  sea  of  fire.  Her 
blood  seemed  molten  metal  in  her.  And  there  was 
but  one  thought  —  hate  —  hate. 

The  evening  breeze,  blowing  through  the  old  tower, 
found  the  wreath  of  white  flowers  on  the  floor. 


CHAPTER  VII 

IN  the  hour  in  which  Fortino,  under  the  eye  of  the 
guard,  had  conversed  with  the  prisoner,  the  giant 
had  kept  his  tacit  promise,  and  made  no  mention  of 
Clarita.  But  he  had  told  Vicente,  casually,  of  the 
presence  of  Pepa.  The  news  had  startled  and  deeply 
interested  the  hearer.  He  had  put  many  questions. 
She  had  wanted  to  come,  she  had  seemed  unhappy, 
she  had  evidently  wished  to  be  where  the  prisoner 
was ;  she  had  said  she  would  make  no  attempt  to  see 
Vicente  till  Fortino  should  have  done  so.  She  had 
stayed  in  the  boat  not  seeming  in  a  lively  mood. 
This  was  all  the  information  Fortino  advanced  or 
apparently  cared  about. 

What  light  shade  of  doubt  had  come  over  him 
concerning  that  unreadable  girl,  left  Vicente  when 
Fortino  was  gone.  He  had  not  seen  her  in  the  street 
at  the  time  of  the  accident  —  would  not  have  had 
sufficient  cause,  in  that  moment,  to  connect  her  defi 
nitely  with  it  if  he  had.  He  had  blamed  the  men 
only,  with  merely  the  shadow  of  a  doubt  concerning 
her.  But  if  she  had  been  in  Quiroz's  devilish  scheme, 
plainly,  thought  he,  she  would  have  remained  far 
from  this  spot,  with  Quiroz.  Yet  she  had  deserted 
that  steely-eyed  traitor  and  his  machinations  at  the 
first  moment.  She  had  followed  Vicente  with  the 
immediate,  never-daunted  spirit  of  action  that  charac 
terized  her.  She  had  trusted  herself  on  the  lake  at 
night  with  sailors;  she  had  braved  the  waves  and 


360  A   DREAM  OF  A    THROVE 

the  rocks  of  an  unknown  spot,  determined  to  find 
him.  What  other  purpose  was  possible  to  her?  He 
could  conceive  of  none ;  for  on  his  infrequent  visits 
to  Chapala  in  earlier  days  he  had  not  been  permitted 
to  see  that  the  jcfc  was  not  looked  upon  by  Josefa 
Aranja  as  an  enemy.  So  there  was,  then,  one  other 
faithful  to  him.  She  was  daring,  too,  besides  being 
loyal.  She  was  of  a  remarkably  sharp  mind,  many 
times  too  sharp,  indeed,  though  neither  he  nor  For- 
tino  knew  the  true  degree  of  that  acuteness.  If  by 
any  seemingly  impossible  chance  there  should  come 
opportunity  of  escape,  the  prisoner  at  least  believed 
he  knew  that  one  of  his  quickest  witted  allies  was 
at  hand  to  help  him.  But  he  grew  hopeless  at 
the  thought.  There  could  be,  said  he,  no  such 
impossible  chance. 

Pepa's  beauty  was  ever  before  him  after  that, 
transfigured  in  the  shadows  of  his  cell.  He  recalled 
her  as  she  was  in  the  old  days,  with  her  fascinating 
personality  infusing  ever  fresh  life  into  him.  His  old 
affection  for  her,  grown  into  his  present  love,  swept 
over  him  with  redoubled  force.  It  was  a  love  always 
mingled  with  his  dreams,  being  a  part  of  ambition 
and  great  designs  and  therefore  like  the  love  of  an 
older  man,  one  who  has  grown  with  it  into  a  condi 
tion  wherein  he  is  not  so  continuously  in  poignant 
consciousness  of  it  because  it  is  embodied  with  other 
elements  of  his  life —  therefore  becoming  more  true 
and  lasting.  Doubtless  because  of  the  very  quality 
of  being  a  maturer  and  less  fiery  love,  seeming  to  her 
only  an  undercurrent  to  his  ambitions,  it  had  failed 
to  win  anything  lasting  from  her,  failed  at  last  utterly. 
But  he  loved  her.  Here  in  his  loneliness,  buried  in 
these  stones,  the  knowledge  of  her  coming  was  like 
balm.  The  prison  was  more  bearable  after  that. 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  361 

There  was  something  half  congenial  in  the  very  flame 
of  the  candle.  She  had  sent  Fortino  before  her  to 
find  him  and  speak  to  him,  and  prepare  the  way  for 
her.  And  he  had  waited  all  day  for  courage  to  enter. 
So  she  had  not  come.  She  would  try  to  see  him, 
doubtless,  on  the  morrow,  and  they  would  permit  it. 

At  midnight,  after  dreaming  thus  in  a  not  un 
alloyed  sadness,  while  the  candle's  flame  sank  in 
the  wax  and  the  wax  ran  slowly  down  to  the  square 
flat  stones  of  the  floor,  he  blew  out  the  light  and 
lay  down  in  the  corner  on  his  blankets.  The  spot 
was  dry  and  had  been  made  clean.  He  was  accus 
tomed  to  sleeping  on  rude  beds  or  without  beds. 
Yet  he  did  not  fall  asleep  for  hours.  He  was  in  one 
of  those  strained  moods  in  which  one's  nerves  seem 
verily  to  hold  the  body  up  from  its  resting-place,  so 
that  the  muscles  will  not  relax.  There  was  no  tower 
clock  in  these  solitudes  to  mark  the  quarters  with 
double  beat.  He  could  not  reckon  the  time.  Even 
with  Pepa  before  him  the  hours  seemed  thrice  their 
real  length.  Wakefulness  finally  wore  him  out.  He 
sank  into  sleep  in  a  darkness  as  absolute  as  the  walls 
were  solid. 

It  was  four  in  the  morning  when  he  stirred, 
troubled.  He  turned  and  sighed  heavily  in  his 
sleep.  He  had  dreamed  of  a  slight  noise.  His 
slumber  was  lighter.  He  dreamed  of  it  again  —  a 
scraping  sound.  He  turned  still  more,  the  mind  on 
the  point  of  awaking.  The  dream  was  then  that  of  a 
dull  thud,  the  gentle  settling  of  a  stone.  He  started 
into  a  sitting  posture  broad  awake. 

There  was  a  light  in  the  cell,  issuing  from  a  candle 
held  in  a  man's  hand.  And  the  man  himself  stood 
in  the  opposite  corner,  silently.  He  was  dressed  in 
black  from  feet  to  neck.  He  was  bareheaded.  There 


362  A    DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

was  an  accumulation  of  earth  and  mold  over  all  his 
person,  staining  his  shirt,  his  hands,  his  face.  Earth, 
too,  was  mingled  with  his  tangled  black  hair.  The 
prisoner  knew  not  whether  he  dreamed  or  saw  a 
reality.  He  knew  that  face.  He  had  not  seen  it 
since  he  was  fourteen  years  of  age,  but  the  mon 
strous  ugliness  of  it,  the  haunting  scar,  had  stayed 
with  him.  Hence  that  sudden  apparition  in  his 
sleep  was  like  a  recollection  bursting  from  the  haze 
of  the  past.  Years  were  blotted  suddenly  out,  as 
though  they  died  and  left  the  sense  of  death.  He 
was  back  in  that  other  night  when  the  only  mother 
he  had  known  had  died,  and  Fortino  had  carried  her 
away  in  the  darkness,  when  they  had  torn  him  from 
the  terrified  Clarita  and  brought  him  so  mysteriously 
here  where  his  life  changed.  When  there  rises  a 
past  event  which  was  of  deep  significance,  the  sub 
sequent  years,  though  they  sink  away,  leave  a  pale 
halo  round  it,  dress  it  in  a  garb  that  is  unearthly, 
so  that  the  event  becomes  the  key  to  a  new  state 
of  the  heart,  like  music,  and  the  event  is  different, 
potent,  a  new  event. 

There  was  no  move  from  either  for  many  seconds. 
On  the  face  of  the  apparition  remained  the  cowed  slav- 
ishncss.  But  there  was  a  change  in  it.  The  forehead 
seemed  smoother,  the  eyes  held  light.  There  was  evi 
dent  in  the  very  awe  and  silence  so  habitual  to  him, 
something  new  and  vast.  He  stooped  and  remained 
crouched  on  the  floor,  glaring  at  Vicente.  The 
latter  then  found  his  nerves  and  his  voice. 

"  How  did  you  come?"  he  said,  slowly.  "  Or  are 
you  real?  " 

The  mute  suddenly  stood  up  again  and,  in  silence, 
threw  his  arms  into  the  air  with  a  movement  of  pro 
found  exultation,  wherein  the  face  was  as  though 


A   DREAM   OF  A    THRONE  363 

bathed  in  fire.  Then  its  dead  color  came  back,  ac 
cented  by  earthen  stains,  and,  seemingly  crushed 
with  fear,  he  crept,  like  the  insane  one  that  he  was, 
over  the  floor  to  Vicente's  side.  He  spread  out  his 
ten  fingers  slowly  before  him.  They  were  long  and 
covered  with  earth,  the  nails  being  black  with  it. 
He  looked  at  them  and  the  scar  was  stretched  into 
that  which  may  have  been  a  smile.  He  took  from  his 
bosom  some  scraps  and  half  sheets  of  paper,  scrawled 
with  characters.  Kneeling  on  the  floor  he  gave  the 
first  to  Vicente. 

"  I  shall  be  free.  The  years  shall  be  nothing. 
The  world  shall  be  nothing.  I  can  follow  her." 

"  What  do  you  mean?"  said  Vicente,  profoundly 
moved  to  hope.  "  These  are  to  me  but  words. 
Speak  that  which  shall  be  of  some  comfort  or  some 
meaning  to  me.  Who  are  you?  From  where  do 
you  come?  As  you  came  can  I  too  not  go  and  be 
free?  I  know  you  as  one  who  took  me  over  the 
water  one  memorable  night  thirteen  years  ago. 
Speak,  for  if  there  is  to  be  light  in  this  darkness,  I 
can  brook  no  delay.  Do  you  come  from  that  her 
mit  who  was  your  master,  and  are  there  tidings? 
Control  your  mind,  man,  and  give  me  hope." 

The  mute  thrust  out  another  torn  paper,  fastening 
his  dull  eyes  on  Vicente  and  seeming  to  emit  some 
of  the  crushed  intensity  of  his  strange  being  from 
those  orbs.  The  words  were  these : 

"  You  also  are  as  I  am.  For  thirteen  years  you, 
too,  like  myself,  have  been  in  this  almighty  power. 
There  was  no  other  god  to  me.  There  was  no  other 
hell.  My  soul  was  mastered.  It  wished  to  but  it 
could  not  die.  It  dreamed  of  death.  Death  would 
have  made  it  mad  with  joy.  But  he  was  the  god 
of  it.  Thus  also  with  you.  Thirteen  years  only 


364  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

with  you.  Twenty-seven  with  me.  But  you  too 
are  a  slave.  We  shall  be  free." 

"Where  is  he?"  cried  Vicente,  smothering  his 
voice.  "  Give  me  more  meaning  than  this,  and  quick. 
I  swear  to  you  if  your  coming  means  freedom  you 
shall  have  your  reward.  Is  he  here?"  He  shook 
the  other's  shoulder  fiercely,  rising  to  his  feet  in  sup 
pressed  excitement.  "  Take  me  to  him  if  there  be 
a  way." 

The  mute  was  unmoved.  He  held  out  another 
paper,  a  larger  one.  It  was  as  follows,  written  finely 
and  closely  in  the  same  hand.  The  ink  was  hardly 
dry. 

"  In  every  one  of  the  twenty-seven  I  would  have 
slain  him.  I  could  not.  His  mind  was  god.  It 
ground  me  down.  It  held  me  without  speech.  lie 
has  never  left  this  island.  He  is  here  now,  in  the 
other  prison.  When  I  last  went  for  food  he  was  ill. 
He  is  old.  He  had  not  the  right  medicines,  nor 
food  for  more  than  two  meals.  I  was  returning  with 
these  things  and  awaiting  a  wind  when  they  cap 
tured  me.  I  told  them  he  would  starve.  They  did 
not  heed.  It  was  horror  to  me.  The  almighty  mind 
was  dragging  me  back.  But  the  others  held  my 
body.  To  starve  him  was  terror;  yet  I  wanted  to 
starve  him  and  be  free ;  yet  I  dared  not.  I  was  held 
two  days  and  two  nights  before  we  came  hi- re. 
There  was  no  boat  or  food  here  for  him.  Nor  could 
he  walk  for  being  old  and  ill.  They  would  have  sent 
me  on  and  called  it  being  free.  I  dared  not  go.  He 
was  dragging  me  back,  so  that  I  knew  he  was  not 
dead.  I  got  out  of  the  boat  in  the  dark  and  swam 
back.  I  crawled,  dragged  by  him  who  was  not  dead, 
under  the  rocks  to  the  other  end.  I  went  into  his 
cell  afraid.  I  fell  down  and  fainted  in  the  almighty 


A   DREAM   OF  A    THRONE  365 

power.  Afterward  I  heard  him  crawling  from  the 
cot,  cursing  in  his  throat.  I  felt  his  fingers  on 
my  neck.  But  he  did  not  kill  me.  He  dragged  me 
back.  So  I  went  and  stole  food  and  liquor  in  the 
night  from  the  tower.  Last  night.  He  will  die. 
His  body  is  weak  but  his  mind  is  the  same.  So  we 
are  slaves  yet.  To-day  I  lay  and  thought,  while  he 
groaned.  To-night  I  wrote  these  to  you.  I  knew 
we  should  be  free  when  his  mind  dies  —  and  I  can 
follow  her.  I  know  how  I  shall  follow,  and  how 
soon,  when  he  is  gone.  I  know  where  she  will  be 
waiting.  Then  I  began  to  come.  I  did  not  begin 
soon  enough.  It  took  so  long.  I  knew  the  place 
always,  but  I  had  not  come  in  for  years.  The  tunnel 
is  so  long  and  all  the  top  has  fallen,  and  earth.  So 
I  had  to  dig  through  piles  of  it  and  crawl  over 
stones.  It  took  me  four  hours.  When  I  came  under 
the  floor  I  went  back  for  these  papers  and  I  am 
adding  this  last  about  the  tunnel.  He  does  not  know 
you  are  here.  I  told  him  nothing.  He  thinks  I  let 
him  starve  because  he  is  weakening  and  losing  his 
power  on  me.  This  is  why  he  crawled  to  me  to 
strangle  me.  But  he  knew  he  would  then  starve. 
We  shall  be  free." 

The  meaning  of  this  burst  on  the  prisoner.  His 
mind  was  suddenly  alert.  He  was  bent  on  action 
with  a  haste  imperious.  He  was  down  on  his  knees 
at  the  mute  with  both  hands  on  his  shoulders.  He 
brought  his  own  face  close  to  the  other's  and  bent 
his  powerful  eyes  on  the  insane  one's. 

"  Come,"  he  said  in  low,  deep  command.  "  Come 
at  once  with  me.  I  must  see  him  before  he  dies. 
We  shall  be  free  indeed,  but  take  me  there  at  once." 

The  other  shook  in  his  old  dread. 

"  You  are  afraid   I   shall  kill  him,"   said  Vicente, 


366  A   DREAM   OF  A    THRONE 

reading  him  and  falling  in  with  his  illusions.  "  Fear 
it  not.  I  do  not  dare.  He  is  dragging  us  —  he  is 
dragging  me  too.  Come.  We  dare  not  wait." 

The  other's  long,  cold  fingers  closed  in  a  grip  of 
great  strength  on  Vicente's  wrist,  and,  his  eyes 
always  on  Vicente's,  he  was  drawn  up. 

"  Where  is  the  stone?  Show  me  the  way —  he  is 
dragging  us  both  —  "  The  mute  was  stooping  in  the 
corner.  "  He  is  drawing  us  with  his  almighty  mind  — " 
The  mute  was  straining  his  back.  "  He  will  die  and 
we  shall  be  free  — "  A  flat  stone  over  which  Vicente 
had  walked  a  score  of  times  came  up.  "  But  we  dare 
not  kill  him.  Come.  Come.  Go  you  first  and  lead 
me  —  The  mute  leaped  into  a  hole  and  dis 
appeared.  "  We  shall  be  free." 

The  candle  was  passed  to  the  leader  and  Vicente 
lowered  himself.  The  mute  replaced  the  stone. 
From  the  hole  they  descended  irregular  steps  some 
fifteen  feet.  They  were  then  in  a  passage  far  under 
ground,  six  feet  in  height,  four  feet  in  width,  arched 
of  roof,  which  roof  had  been  of  stone.  Some  of  the 
stones  had  fallen;  others  remained  jutting  out  of  the 
mold  overhead.  The  candle-light  cast  a  glare  over  a 
blank  wall  behind  them  and  the  steps  at  the  side,  and 
lost  itself  to  the  front  in  the  shadows  that  marked  the 
passage  leading  into  unseen  regions  to  the  south. 
The  mute  cast  a  fearful  glance  back  at  the  follouvr 
and  met  the  latter's  compelling  eye.  The  exultation 
came  again  into  the  insane  one's  face,  and  the  scar,  a 
thousand  times  more  hideous  buried  thus  in  the  earth, 
shining  white  out  of  the  gloom,  was  stretched  into 
unwonted  prominence.  The  journey  was  begun  — 
the  mute  silent  and  steady  of  foot,  Vicente  agitated 
in  spite  of  all  possible  self-control. 

The  original   purpose  of  this  tunnel,  which   leads 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  367 

from  the  central  prison  to  that  on  the  southern  head 
land  of  the  island,  passing  under  both  moats,  has 
been  and  will  doubtless  continue  to  be,  a  matter  of 
speculation  to  the  few  visitors  to  that  lonely  spot.  It 
may  still  be  seen,  even  entered,  by  the  lifting  of  the 
stone.  It  could  not,  however,  at  this  date,  be  tra 
versed  without  much  excavation,  for  more  of  the 
roof  and  some  of  the  earth  that  was  over  it  have 
fallen  in.  It  seems  altogether  improbable  that  it 
could  have  been  dug  by  prisoners  attempting  an 
escape,  for,  in  addition  to  the  difficulty  of  conducting 
such  a  work  and  disposing  of  the  earth  in  secrecy 
(though  such  works  have  been  done)  the  passage  is 
larger  than  one  thus  undertaken  would  be  likely  to 
be.  Furthermore,  it  was  roofed  with  stone.  It  is  as 
straight  as  intervening  rocks  would  permit,  passing,  so 
nearly  as  one  can  judge,  along  the  line  of,  and  beneath 
that  surface  road,  which  has  been  referred  to  as 
leading  from  the  one  prison  past  the  square  tower  to 
the  other. 

It  has  been  suggested  that  this  in  itself  was  a  secret 
prison,  one  compared  to  which  other  .dungeons  would 
seem  cheerful.  However  tenable  or  otherwise  such 
a  theory  may  be,  it  is  certain  that  in  two  places  there 
are  small  square  rooms  excavated  out  of  the  earth 
and  the  rocks  far  underground  and  leading  into  the 
tunnel  only.  There  are  also  certain  places  that  may 
have  been  other  such  cells.  More  than  this,  in  the 
two  that  remain  apparent  there  are  human  bones. 
But  this  latter  fact  in  itself  need  not  be  taken  as  of 
such  weight  as  might  at  first  appear,  when  are  con 
sidered  the  methods  still  in  use  in  certain  parts  of  the 
republic  of  disposing  of  human  remains. 

The  thought  of  that  possible  line  of  dungeons,  the 
ideas  the  bones  suggest  to  the  mind,  are  too  revolt- 


368  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

ing.  One  prefers  some  more  charitable  theory. 
Mexico  shows  many  strange  things.  In  Yucatan  is 
a  graveyard  where  skeletons  are  exhibited  in  pots, 
labelled,  where  skulls  line  the  walls  and  bones  are 
strung  on  cords.  In  the  City  of  Guanajuato  every 
tourist  is  shown  the  underground  passage  filled  with 
its  ghastly  array  of  mummified  bodies.  In  the  City 
of  Oaxaca  there  is  a  tunnel  leading  for  a  considerable 
distance  from  a  monastery  to  a  church,  the  entrances 
being  secret,  the  purposes  unknown.  There  are  in 
Mexico  City  itself  many  freaks  of  architecture  the 
study  of  which  would  infinitely  reward  the  pains, 
many  a  church  of  mysterious  associations,  many  a 
house  long  since  called  haunted  from  some  peculiar 
ity  of  its  construction.  Wherever  mediaevalism 
pushed  its  way  it  left  these  mysteries  of  the  builder's 
art,  for  its  mind  was  morbid.  Whatever  the  purpose 
of  that  passage  in  Prison  Island,  whatever  the  scenes 
enacted  there,  the  passage  remains  and  speaks  not. 

The  mute  and  his  follower  proceeded.  The  ground 
was  damp  with  mold.  Naked  rocks,  jutting  into  the 
tunnel,  looked  black  and  gaunt  in  the  light.  The 
leader's  haste  was  extreme,  becoming  like  the  haste 
of  excitement.  At  a  distance  of  some  forty  yards 
the  candle  cast  a  gleam  into  one  of  those  cells 
already  referred  to.  The  bones  flashed  out  of  the 
gloom  to  the  left  and  a  skull  lay  in  the  door.  Neither 
man  seemed  to  see  them.  At  sixty  yards  or  more 
the  same  sight  revealed  itself  to  the  right.  There 
were  places  where  the  journeycrs  crawled  over  heaps 
of  stone.  It  became  apparent  that  the  mold  and 
stains  upon  the  mute's  person  were  not  causeless. 
Vicente  himself  gathered  earth  as  he  proceeded. 

They  came  at  length  to  a  spot  where  the  roof  was 
intact  and  marked  by  a  line  of  stone  masonry,  the 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  369 

stones  running  transversely  to  the  tunnel's  direction. 
It  seemed  to  Vicente  that  this  roofing  was  much 
higher  than  the  rest.  He  looked  more  closely  and 
perceived  that  that  portion  of  the  real  roof  had  fallen 
in  (the  mute  was  even  then  crawling  over  it  with 
difficulty)  leaving  this  other  exposed  above  it.  He 
peered  up.  There  was  a  chink  between  the  stones 
and  he  saw  the  sky  and  a  star.  He  was  looking 
through  the  bottom  of  the  moat  that  cuts  the  island 
in  two.  That  faint  glimpse  of  the  freedom  of  skies 
made  his  heart  bound.  He  followed  the  mute,  who 
had  crawled  over  the  obstruction  and  was  hastening 
on  in  silence.  Having  traversed  a  distance  of  some 
one  hundred  yards  they  arrived  at  the  tunnel's  end,  a 
blank  wall  of  natural  rock.  There  were  steps  here 
and  they  went  up.  The  steps  led  to  a  natural  open 
ing  where  two  buried  boulders  left  a  chink  between 
them,  the  one  rock  protruding  beyond  the  other 
somewhat  concealing  the  passage  as  the  wings  of  a 
stage  conceal  the  entrances.  The  irregular  steps 
curved  as  they  ascended,  and  the  climbers,  passing 
between  those  boulders,  issued  of  a  sudden  in  a  cell. 
The  mute  was  leading.  There  had  been  no  light  in 
the  apartment  and  the  candle  flame  broke  on  com 
plete  darkness.  They  were  nearer  the  surface  and 
the  air  was  fresh.  Once  inside,  the  chink  that  had 
admitted  them  between  the  two  rocks  was  almost 
invisible,  owing  to  the  lapping  of  one  boulder  over 
the  other.  Vicente  had  no  more  than  set  foot  on  the 
floor  of  the  cell  when  he  experienced  that  sudden 
wheeling  about  of  directions  which  one  so  often  ex 
periences  when  he  has  been  in  unknown  quarters, 
has  become  confused  as  to  the  cardinal  points,  and 
finds  himself  again  at  a  familiar  spot.  The  whole 
cell  circled  half  round.  He  perceived  the  place  he 

24 


370  A  DREAM  OF  A    TYRONE 

had  seen  that  other  night  when  he  was  a  boy.  Rec 
ognition  swept  over  him,  accompanied  for  a  moment 
by  a  blinding  mist  of  recollection.  It  was  as  though 
this  had  been,  in  the  old  times,  a  spot  of  enchant 
ment.  The  shelves  were  there  —  the  wine  bottle 
fallen  empty  on  its  side.  The  table  and  the  books 
v.cre  the  same — the  bench  was  there  also.  He 
turned  and  saw  the  cot. 

The  mute  was  standing  in  the  cell's  middle  with 
the  candle  held  over  his  head,  its  light  falling  on 
Vicente  and  on  the  bed.  That  light  cut  a  face  out  of 
the  gloom  over  the  couch  like  the  face  of  a  cameo. 
The  body  lay  at  full  length.  The  face  was  white 
with  a  distinct,  unusual  whiteness.  It  was  old  and 
heavily  lined  but  its  lean  features  were  strong,  even 
masterful,  drawn  though  they  were  with  pain  and 
sickness.  The  eyes,  burning,  stared  at  Vicente.  The 
lips  were  parted  in  excitement  and  the  hermit's  breath 
could  be  heard  short  and  fast.  A  long  hand  uncov 
ered  itself  and  clutched  the  blankets.  Staring  still  at 
Vicente's  face  the  old  man  was  suddenly  half  up,  his 
features  distorted  in  a  fierce  joy  that  would  scarcely 
let  him  gasp : 

"You— you!" 

He  was  shaking  from  head  to  foot.  He  put  out  a 
lean  limb  with  its  foot  to  the  floor  and  would  have 
come  on  to  the  unexpected  visitor,  tottering,  arms 
outstretched,  had  not  Vicente  prevented  him. 

"  Lie  down,"  said  the  latter  firmly  but  gently,  put 
ting  him  back  in  bed  with  much  difficulty.  "You 
are  too  weak." 

"  What,  then,"  cried  the  hermit  ravingly,  "led  you 
here  at  last,  you,  my  hope,  my  life,  blood  of  my  old 
soul !  Have  you  come  to  see  me  die?  " 

"  Heaven  i.;  v.ith  you,"  said  Vicente,  kneeling  down 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  371 

beside  him,  conscious  that  death  could  not  be  far  from 
one  who  looked  like  this.  "  Give  me  your  hand. 
You  should  not  fear  death ;  you  do  not  fear  it. 
Thank  God  I  am  brought,  before  you  leave  me ! 
Senor,  your  work  is  done  —  done,  and  I  am  here.  I 
have  felt  your  power  and  your  help  every  •moment  of 
my  life  since  first  I  saw  you.  In  the  dark  hour  of 
my  fortunes  I  have  come  to  give  you  thanks.  You 
shall  have  your  reward." 

The  other  again  started  up. 

"Why  is  the  hour  dark?"  cried  he.  "What  have 
you  come  to  say?  Speak!  The  last  they  told  me 
was  of  continuous  victory.  Oh  death  of  my  old  torn 
heart !  Has  this,  too,  failed  me  !  " 

"  They  captured  me,"  said  Vicente  calmly,  "  in 
Tizapan,  through  treachery.  They  brought  me  here 
and  imprisoned  me  in  the  other  prison.  This  man 
came  to-night  and  showed  me  the  tunnel,  and  I  have 
followed  him." 

"Captured  you?"  cried  the  hermit,  seizing  the 
other's  shoulders  and  fastening  his  fiery  eyes  on 
Vicente's  face.  "  Then  what  is  that?  Nothing!  Ha! 
ha!"  wildly.  "Prisoner?  Who  can  be  a  prisoner 
here  but  he  who  is  captive  to  the  mind  ?  The  island 
is  honeycombed.  You  are  free  !  There  is  no  prison 
here."  The  speaker  would  sit  up,  in  which  posture 
he  swayed  and  shook  in  weakness  and  excitement. 
"  Victory  will  come  back  !  And  they  dreamed  they 
could  hold  the  church  on  the  church's  island  !  Son  ! 
Son  !  The  arm  of  the  Lord  is  yours  !  " 

"Then  in  His  name  lie  down  and  calm  yourself/' 
cried  Vicente.  "  I  will  not  let  you  die." 

"  I  will  not  lie  down.  Death  is  on  me  and  I  must 
speak  before  he  comes.  I  have  felt  his  hand.  Yet, 
I  cannot  die  till  I  tell  it  all ;  yet  I  must  haste  to  tell 


372  A   DREAHf  OF  A    THRONE 

it  lest  I  die.  This  shall  be  my  great  peace.  Oh  ! 
thou  Blessed  Mary !  Thou  hast  brought  him  here  at 
last!  I  longed  for  you.  I  dreamed  of  you  night  and 
day  while  death  was  coming.  Must  I  die,  I  said,  and 
he  not  know?  Must  my  lips  shut  on  the  knowledge 
and  be  not  opened,  when  I  have  sat  here  or  trod  these 
stones  or  lain  on  this  couch  so  many  years  dreaming 
of  the  day  of  the  church's  victory  when  at  last  I 
should  tell  you  and  love  should  be  unburdened  of  its 
secret.  Yet  first  let  me  show  you  your  freedom.  You 
see  this  mute  who  stands  there  with  the  candle.  He 
shall  lead  you  out.  Look  —  there  are  the  steps  by 
which  you  first  entered  this  place  long  ago.  They 
led  then  to  a  door  at  the  end  of  the  shaft  of  this  prison. 
They  lead  there  still,  but  the  door  is  barred  by  tons 
of  ruins.  You  came  in  with  ease.  You  could  not 
go  out  were  you  a  hundred  times  as  strong  as  you 
are.  But  I  was  ready  for  the  event.  Five  years  ago 
I  saw  that  the  walls  and  roof  about  that  door  must 
fall,  and  my  entrance  be  perhaps  cut  off.  I  went 
through  the  tunnel  you  have  traversed  to-night  and 
looked  at  that  prison.  I  said  to  myself,  These  walls 
are  stronger  but  these  too  may  fall  and  block  the  way. 
To  dig  through  earth,  said  I,  is  easier  than  to  dig 
through  stone ;  and  it  may  fall  and  bury  me  alive. 
So  I  put  this  slave  to  work.  Half  way  up  those 
other  stairs  which  you  to-night  ascended,  you  will 
find  another  fissure  in  the  rocks.  He  dug  there, 
slanting  downward.  This  prison  is  over  the  water  and 
the  distance  to  the  shore  is  not  great.  The  rocks 
hindered  him,  but  I  made  him  labor  on.  In  two 
months  he  did  it,  alone.  There  is,  therefore,  another 
tunnel,  leading  down  from  this  cell  to  a  spot  not  seen 
from  other  portions  of  the  shore.  Its  opening  is 
under  the  precipice  whereon  stands  this  prison,  with 


A   DREAM    OF  A    THRONE  373 

rocks  guarding  it  and  cactus  hiding  it.  Then  this 
slave  dug  in  the  lake  and  made  a  cove  for  his  boat. 
I  was  safe ;  I  dared  the  very  earthquakes ;  and  one 
of  them  came.  I  was  here  alone  one  night  when  the 
shock  rocked  these  stones.  I  heard  a  crash  like 
thunder  and  I  knew  that  another  portion  of  the  ruins 
had  come  down,  as  had  fallen  so  many,  as  all  will  fall 
at  last.  I  tried  the  door.  It  was  blocked.  I  sat  till 
morning  and  this  slave  returned.  He  could  not  enter 
in  the  old  way,  so  he  came  up  from  beneath.  I  keep 
always  ink  and  paper  for  him  to  write.  He  told  me 
that  the  greater  portion  of  the  end  of  the  prison  that 
is  over  us  had  fallen  down  about  my  door,  burying  it. 
I  was  not  sorry.  I  was  prepared,  and  I  was  the  better 
hid.  Through  the  way  this  slave  has  dug,  you  too 
shall  find  freedom.  Victory  again  !  Oh  !  thou  Mother 
of  God,  I  give  thee  thanks !  The  mute's  boat  will 
carry  you." 

This  long  speech  had  not  been  uttered  thus  con 
secutively.  The  speaker  was  too  weak.  He  paused 
many  times,  gasping.  At  the  last  words  there  was 
an  extraordinary  motion  of  despair  from  him  who 
had  till  then  stood  in  absolute  motionlessness,  hold 
ing  the  candle.  He  put  the  light  on  the  floor,  and 
fell  down  before  the  couch. 

"What  is  this?"  muttered  the  hermit,  turning  his 
eyes  on  the  crouching  one.  "  Take  your  pen,  man, 
and  write." 

The  other,  livid,  arose  and  secured  the  necessary 
materials  from  the  shelf.  Vicente  held  a  candle  and 
the  mute  wrote : 

"  The  boat  is  not  there." 

"  How  !  "  cried  the  trembling  old  man,  bending  on 
the  writer  a  look  that  seemed  to  make  him  shrivel. 
"  What  treason  is  this,  you  who  have  left  me  here  to 


374  A   DREAM    OF  A    THRONE 

starve?  O  death  !  this  is  thy  hand.  I  have  lost  my 
powers.  Let  me  die  —  let  me  die !  Where  is  the 
boat?" 

"  On  the  other  side,"  wrote  the  mute,  scarcely  able 
to  make  the  letters.  His  exultation  was  gone.  There 
could  have  been  imagined  no  more  abject  creature. 

The  scene  was  one  of  pain  to  Vicente.  He  broke 
in  at  this  point,  and,  pitying  the  insane  one,  told  such 
of  his  story  as  he  knew,  showing  that  no  blame  could 
be  attached  to  that  helpless  and  speechless  man,  who 
seemed,  in  his  slavery,  to  have  believed  himself  cul 
pable.  The  hermit  sank  back  in  despair  at  this  news. 
He  lay  meditating  with  his  thoughts  burning  in  the 
orbs  that  never  lost  fire. 

"  But  for  this,"  continued  Vicente,  "  there  is  a 
remedy ;  and  the  mute  can  yet  play  his  part  and  free 
me.  There  came  to  this  island  to-day  —  rather  yes 
terday,  for  it  must  be  near  morning  —  two  of  my 
friends  with  a  canoa  ;  the  fisherman  Fortino,  and  the 
girl,  Josefa  Aranja.  With  them  are  two  sailors.  I 
would  trust  that  man  with  my  life,  and  the  girl's  wits 
are  beyond  measurement.  If  I  leave  the  escape  with 
them  it  can  be  effected.  Will  this  man  carry  them 
word,  and  will  he  do  it  in  secrecy?  " 

The  hermit,  again  in  excitement,  partly  arose,  rest 
ing  on  his  elbow. 

"  It  is  not,"  said  he,  "  that  he  will  or  will  not. 
Death  as  yet  has  none  of  me  !  " 

"  Then  shall  I  write  a  note,"  continued  Vicente, 
arising,  restless,  eager,  absorbed  in  his  plans,  and 
pacing  the  floor  as  he  spoke,  "with  the  details  of 
escape  therein.  This  man  shall  deliver  it  either  to 
the  girl  or  to  Fortino.  No  —  he  does  not  know  them. 
Then  it  shall  be  done  thus.  There  is  but  one  woman 
on  the  island.  He  cannot  mistake  her.  You  will 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  375 

find  her,  man,  sleeping  in  the  canoa"  He  came  and 
laid  his  hand  on  the  mute's  shoulder,  and  looked  into 
the  mute's  dull  eyes.  "  I  shall  probably  see  her  to 
morrow,  but  so  guarded  that  I  can  say  nothing. 
To-morrow  night  you  will  go  and  find  her.  You  will 
communicate  with  her  in  secret,  giving  her  the  note. 
We  need  not  fear.  She  will  make  the  contents  known 
to  the  fisherman,  and  my  orders  will  be  obeyed.  It 
can  be  done !  It  shall  be  done  !  The  canoa  shall 
come  to  the  tunnel's  opening,  and  I  shall  enter  it  and 
sail  to  that  point  of  the  shore  to  which  the  wind  can 
most  quickly  take  us.  You  are  the  man  to  help  me. 
Will  you  go?" 

"  He  will  go,"  said  the  hermit. 

Whereat  the  mute  sat  down  by  the  wall,  and,  draw 
ing  his  hat  over  his  face,  remained  still. 

The  hermit's  manner  underwent  a  change.  He  lay 
back  in  an  intensity  of  thought  that  made  him  for  a 
long  time  silent,  while  there  were  evidences  on  his 
face  of  a  mental  struggle.  He  was  extremely  weak, 
and  breathed  with  difficulty,  so  that  during  his  sub 
sequent  narrative  he  paused  often  to  gain  strength. 
He  kept  his  eyes  always  fastened  on  the  face  of  Vi 
cente  who  came  again  and  stood  by  his  side. 

"  Dawn  is  coming,"  said  Vicente.  "  What  medi 
cines  have  you,  and  before  I  leave  you,  what  can  I 
do?" 

"  Nothing,"  said  the  other,  rousing  himself  from 
his  revery,  "  you  can  do  nothing  so  grateful  as  to 
listen  to  me  and  bear  with  me.  Come  —  let  me 
touch  your  hand —  Ah,  it  is  the  hand  of  youth. 
Yes,  I  am  to  come  to  the  end,  if  not  to-night,  to 
morrow,  or  to-morrow  night.  I  am  as  ready  as  I 
should  ever  be.  Let  God  judge  that  readiness,  and, 
if  I  must  be  punished  with  the  fire,  let  the  fire  come 


376  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

quickly.  I  will  give  you  a  little  history  first,  which 
I  have  buried  in  these  ruins,  longing  always  to  give 
it  to  you.  Boy,  I  am  a  pitiable  old  man,  if  a  stern  and 
a  hard  one.  The  stern  and  the  hard  can  love  as 
deeply  as  the  tender.  You,  at  least,  for  a  reason  you 
shall  know,  will  not  judge  me  too  harshly.  And  the 
mute  there,  if  he  will  hear,  let  him  hear.  He  knows 
it  already  as  though  it  were  his  blood. 

"  I  am  a  pure-blooded  Spaniard.  I  was  born  in 
one  of  the  Basque  Provinces.  I  was  raised  by  the 
church  and  for  it.  It  is  man's  greatest  protector 
and  his  only  hope.  It  shall  yet  be  free  and  master. 
I  entered  the  Guadalajara  monastery  in  1810,  while 
Hidalgo  was  yet  victorious.  His  victories  fired 
me  with  resentment  and  with  a  burning  desire  to 
crush  the  rebels.  As  revolution  bore  on,  and  I 
saw  the  Spanish  power  totter,  I  only,  among  all 
my  brethren,  knew  the  greatness  of  the  danger  of 
the  church.  I  began  to  regret  in  bitterness  that  I 
had  entered  the  monastery.  I  longed  for  freedom 
and  action." 

A  fit  of  coughing  stopped  him.  He  choked, 
his  frame  shaken.  Having  recovered  himself,  he 
proceeded : 

"  I  desired  war,  that  I  might  fight  for  the  church. 
I  was  restless  to  sally  out  and  meet  those  who, 
though  they  carried  her  banner,  were  undermining 
her.  The  thoughts  and  the  duties  of  the  cloister 
could  not  confine  my  mind.  Retirement,  cried  I,  for 
others.  These  walls  are  not  for  me.  The  desire  be 
came,  with  time,  a  purpose.  I  was  on  the  point  of 
casting  away  my  monkish  habits.  I  had  already 
made  plans  for  the  raising  of  troops.  I  was  in  com 
munication  with  the  government.  My  project  was 
not  altogether  frowned  upon  by  the  clergy.  If  I  was 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  377 

mad  enough  to  do  it,  said  they,  they  would  assist  me ; 
for  they  believed  that  my  plans  were  far-reaching, 
that,  with  their  help,  I  could  rouse  this  northern  sec 
tion  of  the  land  to  resist  the  new  movement. 

"  I  was  now  known  to  the  clergy  throughout  many 
States.  The  danger  to  the  church  was  grown  more 
apparent.  The  time  was  ripe.  Then  was  it  my  bad 
fortune  to  fall  ill.  I  was  confined  to  my  cell's  bed 
for  a  full  year.  When  I  at  last  recovered,  Hidalgo 
had  long  since  fallen,  there  was  a  lull  in  the  storm  of 
revolt.  The  church  began  again  to  repose  in  a  fan 
cied  safety.  I  longed  yet  to  act.  But  the  time  had 
passed.  I  tried  to  return  to  my  former  quieter  pur 
suits  and  to  confine  my  mind  to  the  duties  and  the 
thoughts  of  religion.  I  doubted  many  times  whether 
I  was  meant  for  that  life.  I  had  in  me  too  much  of 
the  fire  of  youth,  too  unbridled  a  nature ;  for  I  was 
bold.  My  mind,  too,  possessed  some  unusual  powers, 
and  they  called  my  eye,  in  monkish  jest,  the  demon's 
eye.  It  was  in  my  nature  to  be  second  to  none.  In 
rank  I  was  many  times  outclassed.  But  my  mind 
would  dominate  for  itself  without  rank.  I  found  by 
the  very  force  of  my  will,  or  my  personality,  or  my 
sternness  —  I  know  not  what  to  call  my  power  —  that 
I  could  bend  the  wills  of  those  about  me.  Some 
deemed  me  a  wizard,  or  in  league  with  the  devil, 
which  thought  was  folly.  Where  is  there  a  commu 
nity  or  a  group  wherein  some  one  mind  is  not  the 
leader? 

"  After  some  years  I  found  the  force  of  my  nature 
was  really,  though  not  nominally,  the  master  of  the 
monastery,  and  thus  the  wielder  of  power  that  ex 
tended  far  beyond  its  walls.  You  see  me  weak  and 
fallen.  Boy,  boy  —  I  was  a  lion  in  those  days!  At 
my  tread  priests  trembled.  During  those  years  I 


378  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

kept  my  eye  ever  fastened  on  the  revolt.  At  times  I 
believed  the  country  needed  me,  and  I  was  on  the 
point  of  action,  but  the  immediate  danger  would  pass. 
Many  things,  too,  baffled  me.  Where  my  personality 
could  not  extend  its  own  immediate  power,  there 
grew  up  the  belief  that  my  influence  was  sinister,  so 
there  were  machinations  in  the  church  against  me. 
Thus  does  she  ever  defeat  her  end,  dividing  against 
herself.  Oh,  Mother  of  the  world!  Keep  thyself 
intact  and  thy  parts  consistent,  or  thy  doom  is 
sealed ! 

"At  last,  revolution  growing  fiercer  and  the  danger 
that  I  alone  perceived  in  its  fulness,  more  threaten 
ing,  I  pleaded  with  the  clergy  in  many  parts,  showing 
them  by  all  reason  that  with  permanent  liberty  from 
Spain  on  a  continent  of  republican  institutions,  the 
power  of  the  Church  must  become  subordinate. 
Many  saw  the  truth.  Others  were  for  temporizing; 
for  holding  aloof  till  the  complete  success  of  one 
party  should  warrant  our  support  of  that  party. 
Still  others  were  for  crushing  both  parties  and  estab 
lishing  an  independent  monarchy.  I  went  to  work, 
then,  against  prodigious  odds,  to  bring  out  of  the  chaos 
a  party  to  support  me  and  an  army  to  fight  for  Spain. 
My  plans  were  again  maturing.  I  could  brook  the 
cloister  but  little  longer.  I  was  ready  to  throw  away 
my  clerical  garb  and  take  the  field." 

He  was  again  forced  to  pause.  He  lay  breathing 
heavily.  It  was  long  before  he  could  muster  strength 
to  proceed. 

"  In  the  year  1818  came  the  great  new  thing  into 
my  life.  I  have  told  you  of  your  mother.  She  was 
then  nineteen  years  of  age.  I  saw  her  first  one 
moonlight  night  in  November.  I  was  standing  in 
the  door  of  my  cell,  dreaming  of  my  coming  course 


A  DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  379 

of  action  in  the  world.  I  saw  the  prior  crossing  the 
patio  by  the  fountain  and  the  book.  Behind  him 
came  that  which  was  unwonted  in  those  walls  —  a 
woman.  Her  mantilla  had  fallen  to  her  shoulders, 
leaving  her  head  bare.  The  moonlight  fell  on  her 
masses  of  black  hair  and  her  young  face.  The  last 
thing  my  eyes  shall  behold  in  this  world  shall  be  that 
scene.  The  prior  came  into  the  corredor  and  asked 
me  to  admit  them  into  my  cell.  I  did  so,  and  she  sat 
down,  we  standing.  She  turned  her  eyes  to  me. 
Boy,  they  were  deep  as  the  sea.  There  was  the  mys 
tery  of  life  and  death  in  them.  I  seemed  to  be  look 
ing  into  an  unfathomable  past,  or  an  unfathomable 
future.  She  was  beautiful  as  no  other  human  being 
I  had  ever  seen  was  beautiful.  She  called  herself 
Eulalia. 

"She  told  us,  then,  with  an  infinite  sadness,  her 
story ;  why  she  had  sought  the  monastery,  why  she 
had  persisted,  through  all  objections,  in  entering. 
She  laid  before  us,  indeed  delivered  to  us,  all  the 
proofs  of  her  lineage.  She  had  come  from  San 
Pedro,  where  she  had  hid.  Her  father,  through 
whom  the  line  descended,  had  died,  and  her  mother 
had  followed  him  into  the  grave.  She  was  the  only 
child.  She  had  lived,  then,  nearly  alone,  having  only 
one  old  lady,  whom  she  paid  to  stay  with  her.  She 
had  been  lonely.  She  had  brooded  and  dreamed  of 
the  power  and  the  right  represented  in  her  person. 
She  had  watched  the  revolt  and  the  progress  of 
events,  and  it  had  seemed  to  her  that  now  while  the 
country  was  seeking  change,  and  old  institutions  were 
breaking  up,  now  was  the  time  to  strike. 

"  Her  nature  was  deep.  It  had  in  it  that  peculiar 
melancholy,  fascinating  sadness,  that  we  call  qualities 
of  the  Aztec.  She  was  gentle,  yet  great  of  nature. 


380  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

She  shrank  from,  yet  longed  for  power.  Above  all 
else,  the  traditions  of  her  family  and  her  duty  con 
cerning  them  were  sacred  to  her.  She  told  us  with 
a  memorable  simplicity,  that  she  loved  no  one,  was 
beloved  by  none ;  that  love  alone  could  bring  chil 
dren  to  her.  She  had  now  no  prospect,  no  wish  of 
marriage.  Even  did  she  marry,  how  many  years 
must  pass  before  a  son  could  grow  to  manhood  and 
fight  the  battles  of  his  ancient  race  !  She  had  seen 
the  country  tottering  round  her.  She  had  dreaded 
letting  pass  perhaps  the  only  chance,  the  one  mo 
mentous  time,  for  striking.  So  she  had  come  to  the 
church,  known  to  support  monarchy,  known  to  con 
tain  a  party  of  no  little  strength  who  favored  a  new 
and  independent  throne.  She  had  come,  too,  to  that 
institution  of  the  church  most  secret,  keeping  secrecy 
most  inviolable.  She  was  weary  of  the  world,  said 
she,  weary  of  the  burden  of  sorrow  and  exile  de 
scended  through  so  many  centuries  to  her,  borne 
now  by  her  alone.  She  could  not  bear  it  longer; 
she  gave  it  to  us.  If  we  deemed  it  best  to  act,  we 
would  do  so ;  if  not,  we  would  keep  her  secret  for 
her. 

"  I  was  astounded  and  deeply  moved.  We  kept 
her  many  days,  hid  her  there,  in  the  monastery  till 
the  facts  could  be  made  plainer  and  we  should  have 
no  doubt.  We  came  to  believe  her.  There  was 
then  communicated  to  the  powers  of  the  church  in 
many  places,  a  hint  of  a  royal  personage  ready  to 
take  the  throne.  We  did  not  divulge  her  identity  or 
her  place  of  concealment.  It  was  seen  at  once  that 
a  considerable  party  could  be  brought  to  espouse 
her  cause,  but  for  one  thing  —  that  she  was  a  woman. 
Nor  did  they  yet  know  the  heir  was  a  woman,  for 
this  fact,  she  begged,  should  not  at  first,  in  sounding 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  381 

the  church,  be  revealed.  Ah,  she  was  a  woman 
indeed,  a  girl  —  not  a  statesman.  Had  she  been  a 
man  there  might  have  been  hope.  I  had  espoused 
the  cause  of  Spain.  I  had  bitterly  opposed  independ 
ence,  either  monarchical  or  republican.  I  saw  now 
plainly,  indisputably,  that  her  cause  was  hopeless, 
chiefly  because  she  was  a  woman  and  could  not  her 
self  act,  but  must  leave  others  to  act  for  her,  which  is 
weakness  in  so  rugged  a  land  as  this ;  also  because 
I  knew,  saw  with  trembling,  that  the  deeper  current 
of  the  land  was  then  setting  against  monarchy.  So  I 
should  naturally  have  opposed  her. 

"  At  first  I  held  my  peace,  while  investigating  her 
claims.  In  that  investigation  I  saw  her  often.  Alas  ! 
my  youth  and  my  fire !  And  I  think  it  would  not 
have  been  necessary  for  me  to  see  her  often.  Once, 
surely  once,  were  enough,  even  were  it  only  as  she 
crossed  to  my  door  in  the  moonlight,  by  the  fountain 
and  the  book.  Whatever  hopes,  whatever  emotions 
or  passions  I  had  till  then  in  my  life  experienced 
were  as  nothing,  were  dead,  when  Eulalia  came  to 
me.  I  knew  then  to  what  fierceness  of  love  all  my 
strange  powers  of  heart  and  mind  could  be  converted. 
War  and  the  church  were  suddenly  dwarfs.  Action 
and  control  of  men  were  pigmies.  There  towered  up 
in  my  life,  overshadowing  all,  crushing  all,  an  edifice 
reared  on  a  tempest,  whose  fall  must  be  ruin.  I 
leaped  to  sustain  it,  to  make  it  stable,  real.  I  would 
have  cast  away  the  world,  only  to  take  her  and  hold 
her.  What  were  schemes  of  conquest  to  me  then, 
parties,  lineages,  thrones?  So  my  course  was 
checked  and  my  dream  of  action  died. 

"  By  the  power  I  wielded  in  the  monastery  I  was 
with  her  much  alone  in  her  concealment.  Ay  —  and 
she  grew  to  love  me.  My  heart  must  then  have 


382  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

compelled  love  in  the  coldest  breast  that  calls  itself 
a  woman.  We  were  seized  by  that  new  force  and 
whirled  away  in  it.  We  were  blind  to  days  and  weeks. 
The  sweet  madness  ran  riot  and,  in  that  one  deep, 
true,  God-given  union,  we  drank  life  to  its  dregs. 
When  we  came  a  little  to  ourselves  her  party  was 
clamoring  for  action.  Those  who  hung  from  me 
were  awaiting  my  words  and  wondering  at  my  delay. 
From  that  awakening  her  cause  was  mine,  though  I 
was  sickened  for  all  deeds,  hated  the  world,  knew  in 
my  heart's  bottom  that  to  try  to  raise  her  throne  was 
folly." 

Again  he  paused  exhausted.  He  stretched  out  a 
thin  arm  and  pointed  to  a  spot  on  the  floor.  Vicente, 
turning,  found  a  bottle  of  liquor,  doubtless  stolen  by 
the  mute.  A  swallow  of  this  revived  the  narrator. 

"I  now  speak  of  one  of  whom  I  loathe  to  speak, 
one  whom  it  has  taken  these  many  years  and  all  that 
old  power  of  mind  to  crush,  so  that  my  life  is  wasted. 
There  was  another  monk,  named  Ignacio  Mendez, 
who  loved  her.  It  was  he  who  had  carried  her  her 
meals  since  first  she  came.  He  was  of  a  silent  and 
sinister  nature,  but  of  a  manner  that  convinced  and 
an  eye  that  spoke  of  strength  and  purpose.  He  grew 
out  of  himself  with  love  for  her.  Half  he  lost  his 
reason.  He  was  desperate,  but  cunning.  He  told 
her  of  his  love,  pleaded  with  her  to  go  away  with  him 
—  this  before  she  had  given  her  heart  to  me.  She 
repelled  his  advances.  I  think  he  dreamed  of  force 
but  dared  not  use  it.  He  could  gain  no  word  of 
encouragement.  She  shut  herself  from  him  and 
would  not  be  seen.  Then  it  was  she  loved  me,  and 
Mendez  saw  it.  He  perceived  the  progress  of  my 
power  over  her,  of  hers  over  me.  He  burned  with 
jealousy.  I  have  found  him  many  times  at  night 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  383 

stealthily  creeping  about  her  door  or  mine.  I  longed 
to  kill  him.  At  length  all  the  monastery  could  not 
but  see  my  position  and  his.  Scandal  was  rife, 
though  it  did  not  go  beyond  the  walls.  But  my 
power  was  such  that  no  one,  not  those  above  me, 
dared  to  murmur ;  and  my  love,  God  be  my  witness, 
was  strong,  mastering,  constant. 

"When  we  awoke  from  the  first  blindness  and  per 
ceived  that  there  was  a  party  in  the  state  clamoring 
for  action  from  each  of  us ;  when  we  turned  to  each 
other  and  realized  that  strife  was  not  for  us,  that  all 
we  wished  was  to  sink  out  of  the  world  we  had  known 
and  be  at  rest  together;  then  remorse  fell  on  her. 
She  saw  the  falseness  of  our  situation.  She  .could 
not  bear  it.  In  this  state,  believing  that  she  had 
been  my  ruin  as  well  as  her  own,  she  suddenly  disap 
peared  one  night,  bribing  the  porter  to  let  her  out. 
That  was  in  December,  1818. 

"  In  the  morning,  when  it  was  discovered  that  she  was 
gone,  the  monastery  was  searched.  She  was  not  found, 
and  the  porter  at  last  admitted  the  fact  of  the  bribe. 
There  was,  however,  another  thing  discovered  that 
filled  me  with  terror.  Ignacio  Mendez  was  not  there. 
That  creeping  master  of  cunning,  always  watching 
her  with  jealous  eye,  had  followed  her.  I  was  over 
whelmed  with  grief  and  misery.  I  feared,  for  her,  the 
worst,  for  I  believed  I  knew  him  who  had  followed 
her.  I  know  now  that  my  fears  were  needless.  She 
hid  herself  so  effectually  that  all  his  efforts  were  vain. 
He  did  not  find  her.  She  swore  to  me  before  she 
died,  and  I  know  the  oath  was  sacred,  that  she  had 
not  seen  him,  had  hated  his  name.  On  that  morning 
of  the  discovery  the  prior  found  a  letter  from  Mendez 
to  him,  wherein  the  hypocrite  pleaded  forgiveness  for 
this  sudden  unauthorized  departure,  saying  that  in 


384  A   DREAM    OF  A    THRONE 

his  heart  he  had  committed  a  great  sin  by  looking 
on  a  woman  with  love,  that  remorse  had  fallen  on 
him,  that  fearing  permission  for  a  pilgrimage  might 
not  be  granted  in  these  times  of  wars,  he  had  been 
unable  to  disobey  the  dictates  of  that  remorse  and 
had  gone  to  tread  barefoot  all  the  stony  way  to 
Guadalupe  as  a  penance,  that  the  Holy  Virgin  might 
perhaps  grant  forgiveness. 

"I  was  infuriated.  I  broke  all  bounds  and  burst 
out  of  the  monastery.  I  searched  the  land  for  her 
for  months,  letting  ambitions  and  wars  shift  for  them 
selves,  or  die  in  such  confusion  as  they  might  create. 
I  cared  for  nothing  but  to  find  her,  save  that  Mendez, 
too,  in  my  despair  and  madness,  I  longed  to  seize 
and  crush.  I  dare  not  think  what  crime  might  then 
have  stained  my  hands  had  I  discovered  him. 

"After  the  long  weariness  and  the  long  failure  I 
returned.  My  power  in  the  church  was  gone.  I  was 
deemed  a  traitor,  at  best  a  broken  penitent.  I  had 
no  heart  for  action,  no  desire  for  deeds.  It  would 
have  taken  long  and  great  labor  to  secure  support, 
even  had  I  wished  to  act.  I  buried  myself,  exercis 
ing  none  of  my  powers,  doing  nothing.  The  force 
that  had  won  me  ascendency  over  men's  minds  cared 
no  more  for  that  ascendency  but  lay  dormant  in  me, 
ready  only  to  spring  forth  to  rescue  her,  or  to  crush 
Mendez.  With  that  dream  I  slept,  awoke,  and  lived, 
to  force  him  to  the  earth.  Murder  was  no  more  in 
my  mind,  now  that  days  of  thought  were  plentiful ; 
rather  would  I  have  dominated  him  with  my  will. 

"  Thus  the  greater  part  of  the  new  year  passed 
and  the  new  republic  was  becoming  more  than  a 
name.  I  cursed  it  in  my  heart,  but  would  not  rouse 
myself  from  my  apathy  to  combat  it.  In  July  of 
that  year  Mendez  suddenly  returned  from  his  pil- 


A   DREAM   OF  A    THRONE  385 

grimage.  He  brought  relics  from  the  sacred  hill,  and 
he  being  obsequious,  they  began  to  believe  the  story 
of  his  penance.  He  was  received  and  made  to  do  other 
penance.  I  saw  the  gloom  of  failure  in  his  face. 
I  believed  that  he  too,  like  myself,  had  failed  to  find 
her,  and  that  he  had  gone  to  Guadalupe  to  give 
color  to  his  tale.  I  felt  joy,  seeing  his  gloom.  He 
was  a  changed  man.  He  went  about  dull-eyed.  I 
think  he  was  dreaming  of  her.  I  determined  to  give 
myself  the  secret  morbid  happiness  of  crushing  his 
mind.  I  now  believe  he  had  already  begun  losing 
his  reason  with  grief  at  not  finding  her.  '  What !  '  said 
I,  '  this  worm  dares  grieve  for  her  —  does  he  then 
think  that  I,  too,  have  had  no  grief  ?  '  Worst  of  all, 
his  constant  and  fixed  belief  now  was  that  Eulalia  had 
loved  him.  This  he  even  said  to  me,  swore  it,  taking 
a  hateful  comfort  from  it.  I  began  to  call  out  again 
those  mysterious  powers  of  my  mind.  The  long 
days  and  nights,  the  silence  and  the  secrecy  of  the 
monastery,  lent  me  occasion  to  bring  about  my 
desires.  I  haunted  him.  I  maddened  him.  I  finally 
cowed  him  with  these  old  eyes,  then  young  and 
fierce. 

"You  would  ask  me  how  this  could  be  accom 
plished,  and  what  was  the  nature  of  my  power.  I 
answer  that  I  know  not.  It  was  born  with  me.  I 
had  ever  found  that  my  mind  and  my  will  were  more 
powerful  than  those  of  the  majority  of  men.  Did 
I  but  exercise  my  influence  on  them  I  could  secure 
obedience.  There  is  nothing  supernatural  in  this. 
Every  man  could  thus  influence  some  one.  I  chanced 
to  have  a  power  that  influenced  many.  If  history 
could  but  reveal  it,  there  would  be  found  many  minds 
like  this,  and  certain  forces  that  dominated  great 
events  would  be  explained.  What  I  might  have 

25 


386  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

done  had  my  life  been  different  God  alone  knows. 
He  alone  can  judge  me  for  throwing  the  power 
away. 

"  I  saw  the  effects  on  Mendez.  I  was  bending 
him  by  haunting  him  and  by  willing  it.  Perhaps  I 
myself  was  half  mad,  so  that,  on  his  nascent,  grief- 
born  insanity,  I  exercised  a  crushing  fascination. 
These  things  I  do  not  know.  But  I  was  fast  making 
his  life  but  a  kind  of  mental  dependency  of  mine. 
He  feared  me.  He  was  drawn  by  me.  In  silence 
I  commanded  his  movements,  and  in  silence  he 
obeyed.  My  hatred  for  him  never  abated.  I  was 
absorbed  in  the  loathsome  task,  for  otherwise  life 
would  have  been  empty  to  me.  This  is  one  curse 
of  the  cloister.  If  a  passion  or  a  crime  or  a  fall 
comes  to  one,  there  is  no  chance  for  the  open,  clear 
breath  of  life  to  flow  in  and  cure,  to  bring  new 
thoughts,  hopes,  purposes.  One  is  left  to  brood  on 
the  one  stain  till  the  whole  course,  to  the  brink  of 
the  grave  is  stained. 

"  Before  dawn  on  the  twenty-third  day  of  Sep 
tember,  1819,  it  being  still  dark,  there  came  a  tapping 
on  the  door  of  my  cell.  I  arose  and  found  the  porter 
of  the  street  gate.  He  had  long  been,  secretly,  my 
friend.  He  knew  of  my  love  for  Eulalia.  He  came 
in  in  excitement  and  whispered  to  me  that  she  was 
at  the  door.  I  bade  him  let  her  in  and  bring  her  to 
me  at  once ;  and  I  dressed  myself  in  agitation.  I  had 
scarcely  finished  when  she  crept  in  alone,  out  of  the 
night.  She  was  haggard  but  beautiful  yet  with  that 
deathless  beauty.  She  was  weak  and  staggered.  I 
caught  her  in  my  arms,  where  she  sank,  helpless. 
I  was  trembling  so  that  I  could  scarcely  stand,  so 
I  laid  her  on  my  bed  and  knelt  beside  her.  She 
told  me,  in  two  sentences  which  she  could  hardly 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  387 

speak,  where  she  had  hid  from  me  and  in  what 
loneliness.  Torn  with  doubt  I  asked  if  Mendez  had 
found  her.  She  swore  to  me  with  death  on  her  lips 
that  she  had  not  seen  him,  nor  had  she  so  much 
as  conversed  with  any  other  than  the  woman  who 
lived  with  her  and  had  hidden  her.  One  of  the 
monks  understood  the  practice  of  medicine.  I  has 
tened  away  and  brought  him.  As  we  entered  the 
cell  together  I  saw  that  hated  Mendez  crouching 
outside  by  the  fountain. 

"  When  the  child  was  born  she  was  rendered  in 
sane  with  delirium  and  shrieked.  The  physician 
sent  me  for  certain  other  medicines.  I  was  rilled  with 
horror.  I  ran  out  and  across  the  patio.  Mendez 
was  still  by  the  fountain,  and  the  morning  light  was 
beginning  to  appear.  When  first  the  physician  had 
come,  a  knife  had  fallen  from  Eulalia's  dress.  I 
picked  it  up  and  gazed  at  the  shining  blade,  scarcely 
daring  to  think  of  the  deed  she  had  doubtless  be 
lieved  she  might  find  necessary.  This  dagger  I  still 
held  in  my  hand  as  I  dashed  across  the  open  court. 
Doubtless  my  anguish  had  weakened  my  mind  and 
the  last  of  Mendez's  liberty  and  hate  and  cunning 
came  up  in  him.  As  I  passed  him  he  laughed  an 
exultant  laugh.  I  turned  with  curses  on  my  lips, 
whereto  he  responded  and  swore  that  the  child  was 
his.  The  black  lie  so  maddened  me  that  I  was  like 
a  demon.  '  Slave  !  '  I  cried,  '  Slave  forever  ! '  Utter 
ing  which,  I  struck  at  him  with  the  knife  blindly. 
He  dodged,  but  was  too  late.  The  blade  laid  open 
a  gash  across  his  cheek  and,  entering  his  blasphem 
ous  mouth,  cut  his  tongue  so  that  the  half  of  it  hung 
as  by  a  thread.  I  paid  no  more  heed  but  ran  on, 
secured  the  articles  needed  and  returned,  planting 
myself  at  the  door  ready  to  defy  the  world. 


388  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

"  All  the  other  rooms  about  that /<*//<?  were  at  that 
rime  empty,  and  as  we  had  kept  my  door  closed  and 
the  walls  were  thick  and  the  distances  in  that  mon 
astery  great,  no  one  else  was  yet  aroused.  The 
shrieks  of  delirium  had  soon  ceased,  but  the  delirium 
itself  seemed  fiercer.  Once  more  the  doctor  sent  me 
away.  I  went,  passing  the  figure  of  Mendez  as  he 
crawled,  dazed  and  bleeding,  through  the  long  cor 
ridors  to  his  own  apartment.  It  was  necessary  on 
this  errand  that  I  should  go  to  the  extreme  opposite 
side  of  the  monastery. 

"  When  at  length  I  returned,  all  was  silence.  I 
hastened  to  my  cell.  Its  door  was  open.  I  went  in 
and  stood  aghast.  It  was  empty  save  for  the  child." 

At  this  point  the  speaker  paused  longest.  His 
breath  was  hoarsely  audible.  He  lay  staring  up  at 
Vicente  utterly  unable  to  proceed.  When  at  last  he 
went  on  his  voice  was  weaker. 

"  I  ran  to  the  door  and  the  physician  was  approach 
ing.  I  cried  to  him  ind  he  came  running  with  water. 
He  had  been  only  to  the  fountain,  had  left  her 
scarcely  ten  seconds.  In  that  space  of  time  she  had 
arisen  in  her  delirium,  weak  as  she  was,  and  dis 
appeared.  We  knew  she  must  have  taken  the 
nearest  passage,  else  the  doctor  would  have  seen  her. 
We  ran  its  length.  It  led,  after  some  windings,  to 
the  front  and  out.  We  came  to  the  open  space 
between  the  buildings  and  their  inclosing  walls.  The 
great  door  giving  exit  to  the  street  was  open,  and 
the  porter,  stiff  and  motionless  with  fear,  was  staring 
out  like  a  mummy.  The  gray  light  of  dawn  was 
slowly  growing  and  the  south  wind  blew  over  us. 
We  heard  cries  in  the  street  without.  She  had,  in 
her  sudden  insanity,  staggered  all  this  distance  in 
some  feverish  dream  that  she  must  escape.  She  had 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  389 

beaten  on  the  door  and  seemed  so  like  one  from  the 
grave,  that  the  porter,  in  horror,  had  let  her  out. 
We  were  in  the  street  at  once.  We  were  too  late. 
She  had  fallen  dead  and  there  were  three  gendarmes 
lifting  her.  I  learned  afterward  that  she  had  cried 
out  many  times  that  the  monks  had  murdered  her. 
The  officers  would  not  listen  to  us.  They  were  sullen 
and  seemed  inclined  to  arrest  us,  but  had  no  author 
ity  for  so  doing.  The  prior  was  now  aroused  and 
came  out  with  others.  He  recognized  her  and  spoke 
to  the  officers.  '  At  least/  said  he,  '  let  the  body  be 
brought  into  the  monastery.'  As  the  gendarmes  had 
no  vehicle  and  it  was  some  distance  to  headquarters, 
they  consented,  that  she  might  not  be  left  in  the 
street.  When  we  were  at  length  within  and  she  was 
placed  upon  a  bed  and  her  features  composed,  the 
reality  of  the  fact  of  her  death  broke  over  me  with 
crushing  force.  I  sank  down  and  buried  my  face 
beside  her.  Then,  knowing  that  she  was  beyond  my 
call,  that  the  monks  would  see  to  her  decent  burial, 
and  that  it  was  only  a  question  of  time  till  the  matter 
would  be  taken  up  by  the  civil  authorities,  the 
monastery  searched,  the  scandal  spread  far  and  near, 
myself  and  Mendez  likely  arrested,  even,  in  those 
corrupt,  revolutionary,  and  church-hating  times, 
accused  of  murder  —  I  decided  at  once  upon  flight. 
The  world  was  nothing  to  me ;  let  me  bury  myself 
away  from  it,  now  that  she  was  dead.  But  I  would 
take  Mendez.  My  hate  riveted  me  to  him.  He 
should  not  remain  to  declare  she  loved  him.  By 
nature  was  he  my  slave,  my  slave  should  he  be. 

"  The  purpose  crystallized  at  once  in  me,  and  my 
determination  pushed  its  way  morbidly  to  its  end.  I 
took  the  prior  to  his  cell.  I  reminded  him  how  it 
was  that  the  child  was  heir  to  a  throne  and  that  the 


39o  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

time  would  come  when  he  would  be  needed.  I  pleaded 
that  the  tenderest  care  should  be  taken  of  the  son  of 
one  who  could  not  now  expend  that  care  himself. 
I  secured  his  promise,  aroused  his  enthusiasm.  I 
told  him  of  my  prospective  hiding-place,  that  I  should 
bury  myself  forever  from  a  world  that  I  could  see 
only  to  curse.  I  knew  he  would  keep  my  secret.  I 
went  then  to  Mendez's  room.  He  was  weak  with 
loss  of  blood,  but,  when  I  had  bandaged  his  wound 
and  given  him  stimulants,  he  could  obey  me.  He 
seemed  forever  crushed.  He  followed  me  like  a  dog, 
partly  because  I  mastered  him,  partly  because  he, 
too,  sought  flight. 

41  There  were  horses  kept  within  the  monastery 
walls.  We  took  two,  and,  with  some  provisions,  went 
out  of  that  rear  entrance  which  is  seldom  opened. 
Before  sunrise  we  were  out  of  the  city.  We  rode 
straight  for  the  lake.  We  passed  that  first  night  in 
the  mountains  over  Mescala.  The  dumb  Mendez 
here  made  his  last  effort  to  break  his  bondage.  He 
would  have  left  me.  I  had  brought  a  pistol  and  he 
had  none.  I  told  him  I  would  kill  him.  They  had 
called  my  eye  the  devil's.  I  used  it  then  as  though 
they  had  spoken  truly.  I  bent  him  down  and  he 
stayed  and  followed  me.  In  the  night  we  stole  a  boat 
and  sailed  here. 

11  The  weeks  and  months  that  followed  were  a 
silent  struggle.  I  mastered  him.  I  made  his  mind 
only  a  part  of  my  own.  His  tongue  was  useless  and 
he  could  not  speak.  His  hopes  were  dead.  His 
brain  succumbed  to  mine.  He  believed  still,  even 
now  believes,  that  she  loved  him.  For  which  I  hold 
his  bondage  unbreakable.  When  the  store  of  pro 
visions  we  had  brought  from  the  monastery  and 
increased  upon  the  way  was  exhausted,  I  ventured 


A  DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  391 

to  send  him  back.  This  was  the  test  of  my  power. 
Our  horses  we  had  abandoned,  so  he  went  on  foot. 
He  journeyed  only  at  night.  He,  too,  is  ever  afraid 
of  capture  and  trial  for  an  offence  that  his  mind  can 
not  recall.  As  for  me,  I  know  the  danger  is  long 
since  passed.  At  the  monastery  he  secured  pro 
visions,  and  wrote  them  certain  orders  I  had  com 
manded  him  to  write.  As  the  father  of  the  child  who 
might  one  day  be  their  hope,  they  respected  and 
obeyed  me.  They  made  all  necessary  arrangements 
for  the  mute's  regular  journeys.  Mendez  returned, 
and  when  I  heard  his  oars  here  at  the  shore  one 
morning  of  deep  anxiety,  I  knew  he  was  conquered 
and  the  island  life  assured. 

"  I  turned  to  that  life  with  a  longing  for  a  peace  I 
never  found.  From  remaining  here  for  fear  of  being 
taken,  I  came  to  remain  because  I  did  not  wish  to  go. 
The  death  of  Eulalia  caused  an  investigation  and 
trouble.  I  was  searched  for  but  not  found.  The  un 
settled  condition  of  the  country  rendered  a  continued 
prosecution  of  the  inquiry  impossible.  The  matter 
died  out  of  men's  minds.  But  I  hated  the  world. 
This  cell  came  to  be  my  home.  I  would  not  go.  I 
heard  of  the  child  often.  He  was  strong  and  had 
been  carefully  tended.  When  he  was  one  year  old, 
having  in  this  spot  matured  my  plans,  I  had  them 
bring  him  to  the  shore.  I  sailed  with  him  then,  the 
mute  being  my  only  other  companion,  to  Chapala.  I 
wanted  him  to  be  raised  freely  on  lake  and  among 
mountains,  that  he  might  know  the  people.  I  en 
gaged  that  a  good  woman  should  keep  him  and  the 
priest  should  overlook  his  care  and  give  me  informa 
tion  of  him.  I  had  seen  the  independence  of  this 
country  become  more  assured.  I  had  perceived  both 
the  republican  spirit  and  the  danger  to  the  church 


392  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

growing.  My  interest  in  the  world  thus  much  re 
turned,  to  rear  my  child,  my  boy,  son  of  my  great 
love,  to  be  what  his  nature  demands.  This  ab 
sorbed  me,  this  has  been  my  dream,  my  life.  And 
now  that  I  die  I  free  you  from  this  prison  —  oh  my 
son !  my  son  !  And  victory  shall  be  yours.  And 
thus  let  these  old,  old  eyes,  buried  so  long  in  the 
earth's  rocks,  weep  tears  of  joy  that,  though  I  bo 
dead,  my  one  great  love  shall  live  on  and  rule  for 
ever  !  " 

Vicente  had  long  since  fallen  to  his  knees  by  the 
cot.  He  buried  his  face  beside  that  of  the  hermit  and 
cried,  brokenly: 

"My  father!" 

The  dawn  was  beginning  to  shed  gray  light  over 
the  island  when  the  prisoner,  pale,  changed,  crept 
back  through  the  tunnel,  issued  like  one  dreaming  in 
his  cell,  lowered  the  stone,  and  threw  himself  down 
on  his  blankets. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

ABOUT  seven  o'clock  of  the  previous  evening  the 
wind,  for  the  first  time  in  three  days,  had 
swerved  somewhat  from  the  west  toward  the  north. 
It  was  then  that  a  sail  went  up  not  far  from  Mescala 
where  a  naked  mast  had  been  waiting  for  the  change 
for  some  hours.  A  canoa  with  four  men  on  board  be 
gan  a  slow  journey  south,  in  which  direction  stood 
the  rocks  of  the  island.  The  vessel  rose  and  fell  as 
lightly  on  the  small  waves  as  she  had  when  she  sailed 
in  the  opposite  direction.  For  it  is  worthy  of  note 
that  no  cannon  or  weapon  of  defence  other  than  the 
arms  of  the  men,  weighted  her.  The  breeze  being 
light,  the  traversing  of  the  course  to  the  island  re 
quired  three  hours.  It  was  therefore  about  the  hour 
of  ten,  when,  under  a  starlit  sky  and  frowned  on  by 
the  towering  half  circuit  of  the  island's  promontories, 
the  canoa  glided  into  the  bay,  and  silently  dropped 
her  sail. 

The/*/*,  strained  almost  to  the  limit  of  endurance 
between  hope  and  fear,  had  been  watching  for  that 
sail.  Clarita  was  in  the  church.  It  was  during  the 
intolerable  hours  of  waiting  that  a  new  thought  had 
burst  on  her.  It  was  doubtless  the  intense  anxiety 
and  the  gloomy  manner  of  Rodrigo  that  had  brought 
that  new,  black  knowledge.  In  her  unthinking  fear 
and  her  simplicity  she  had  not  followed  out  the  pos 
sibilities  of  Vicente's  circumstances  to  their  revolting 
end.  But  she  now  suddenly  realized  that  death  itself 


394  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

might  be  his  punishment,  that  this  was  Rodrigo's 
fear.  The  effect  of  that  thought  was  to  benumb  her 
mind. 

The  boat  had  been  in  the  bay  scarcely  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  when  the  jcfc,  with  the  news  it  brought 
sunk  in  his  brain,  stiffly  climbed  the  ascent  from  the 
pier.  He  carried  the  governor's  message  with  him. 
It  was  written  informally  and  read  thus : 

"  You  have  done  well,  a  service  that  shall  not  die.  You 
have  rid  the  state  of  a  great  danger.  If  I  live  and  have 
power  your  reward  is  sure.  There  is  now  but  one  course, 
and  I  wonder  that  you  have  not  already  pursued  it  without 
my  order,  knowing  my  faith  in  you.  Can  there  be  but  one 
end  to  a  traitor  and  a  rebel?  Why  do  you  hesitate?  If 
such  men  are  to  live,  Mexico  is  founded  on  sinking  sand. 
You  are  to  shoot  the  rebel  with  no  delay.  Only  one  thing 
I  suggest,  which  you  are  to  do,  if  you  find  it  practicable. 
Let  the  execution  take  place,  not  on  the  island,  but  in 
Chapala,  Tizapan,  Ocotlan,  or  at  least  some  other  place  which 
has  given  him  followers,  and  is  a  centre  of  revolt.  Chapala 
itself,  as  his  own  town,  is  preferable.  Thus  will  the  example 
of  his  death  be  held  up  before  the  rebels  as  a  warning,  not 
hid  in  the  lake's  middle.  The  moral  effect  will  be  trebled. 
You  say  his  army  is  scattered.  Remain  only  till  you  are 
assured  it  will  not  organize  under  another  leader.  When 
this  becomes  clear,  return.  If  the  contrary  occur,  I  doubt 
not  you  are  capable  of  dealing  with  the  situation.  To  pre 
vent  further  trouble,  a  show  of  clemency  is  now  our  best 
weapon.  We  are  in  no  condition  to  inaugurate  a  whole 
sale  punishment.  Therefore  send  to  every  town  a  procla 
mation  promising  pardon  to  all  such  as  lay  down  their  arms. 
God  with  you.  There  is  happiness  in  the  capital  over  your 
victory.  When  you  return  flushed  with  your  triumph,  we 
will  crown  your  brow.  Till  then,  in  the  name  of  the  people 
of  the  State  of  Jalisco,  receive  my  thanks." 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  395 

The  jefe  came  alone  to  a  point  half-way  between 
the  ascent's  summit  and  the  church ;  and  sat  down 
on  a  rock,  dazed.  The  stars  of  the  low  west,  where 
to  he  stared,  seemed  burning  red.  To  him  the  expe 
rience  of  emotion,  happy  or  unhappy,  was  bound  up 
with  the  desire  to  take  it  to  her,  as  though  the  ex 
perience  and  the  desire  partook  of  one  another's 
identity.  True  love  becomes  a  mammoth  endeavor 
to  absolutely  unite  the  whole  existence  with  that  of 
the  loved  one.  Recalling  this,  the  struggle  that  went 
on  in  Rodrigo's  breast  as  he  sat  there  with  the  church 
and  her  on  his  left  and  the  gulf  on  his  right,  becomes 
clear.  For  a  new  love  is  ever  half  mad.  To  observe 
that  to  share  this  grief  with  her  in  anything  like  sym 
pathy  was  impossible  —  is  not  to  the  point.  To  be 
sure,  she  must  learn  of  it.  This  would  be  almost  to 
crush  her.  She  would  come  thus  only  to  bear  a 
sorrow  of  her  own  —  not  to  share  his.  Hence,  to 
unburden  his  misery  to  her  was  impossible,  useless, 
so  far  as  relief  to  either  was  concerned.  It  only 
remained  to  communicate  the  fact,  letting  each  bear 
the  separate  grief.  But  love  does  not  act  on  such 
principles.  Rather  it  cuts  all  down  and  says :  Let 
us  bury  this  terror  by  blindly  rushing  together, 
with  it. 

After  half  an  hour  (which  stood  out  like  a  jagged 
rock  in  the  course  of  his  life  ever  after)  he  arose, 
without  reasoning  or  thinking,  and  went  slowly 
toward  the  church.  Movement  cleared  his  brain 
somewhat,  and  a  purpose  began  to  form  itself.  He 
came  to  the  church  door  and  paused.  The  first  and 
only  impulse  to  go  away  came  to  him,  and  died.  He 
stepped  in  front  of  the  vacant,  arched  entrance,  be 
side  which  Fortino,  heavily  breathing,  lay  wrapped 
in  his  blanket.  Rodrigo,  longing  for  her  and  pitying 


396  A  DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

her,  looked  in.  He  knew  she  would  not  be  asleep. 
She  would  be  waiting  in  anguish  for  the  news. 

He  had  expected  that  he  should  have  to  call  her 
out  or  secure  a  candle  and  go  in.  He  was  surprised 
to  perceive  that,  at  the  church's  far  end  where  the 
altar  had  been,  there  was  a  candle  already  lit,  placed 
on  a  stone.  And  Clarita  was  kneeling  before  it  with 
her  back  to  him.  In  the  hour  of  her  need  and  her 
dread,  the  fact  that  this  was  a  church  had  been  of 
comfort.  He  knew  she  was  praying  in  the  silence, 
there  with  the  light  falling  on  her  face,  and  her  re- 
bozo  carefully  wrapped  round  her  head  and  small 
figure.  He  came  only  half-way  in  and  could  proceed 
no  further,  overcome.  She  heard  his  tread  among 
the  ruins,  and,  still  kneeling,  turned  her  head  quickly 
so  that  he  could  see  her  face  in  the  candle-light,  and 
looked  at  him.  She  perceived  that  he  was  deathly 
pale,  gaunt-looking,  standing  thus  staring  at  her. 
He  could  not  come  on  ;  he  was  halted  by  his  mission. 
So  he  merely  sat  down  slowly  on  a  stone.  That  the 
disaster  had  come  with  his  entrance  was  plain  to  her. 
She  could  not  arise.  That  the  last  weight  was  falling 
on  her  as  she  looked  at  him,  was  as  plain  to  him. 
So  they  did  nothing  —  simply  remained  silent  at 
some  yards  from  one  another. 

It  seemed  to  him  hours  that  they  sat  thus,  while 
the  candle's  flame  waved  blue  and  yellow,  and  the 
slow-circling  stars  stared  through  the  gaping  roof. 
Doubtless  the  time  was  in  reality  short.  Just  as  he 
was  beginning  to  feel  he  could  bear  it  no  more,  he 
saw  her  sway  and  fall  forward.  He  was  beside  her 
at  once,  lifting  her.  As  she  had  been  on  her  knees, 
and  had  fallen  with  her  arms  tinder  her  face,  she  was 
in  no  wise  hurt.  Nor  did  she  quite  faint.  Perhaps 
the  very  poignancy  of  her  grief  prevented  her  from 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  397 

losing  consciousness.  She  soon  sat  up.  Much  as  he 
longed  to,  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  hold  her  in 
his  arms.  She  herself  had,  perhaps  unconsciously, 
pushed  him  a  little  away. 

"  Clarita,"  he  said,  his  voice  strained.  He  paused, 
and  she  was  not  looking  at  him.  "  Clarita,  I  cannot 
do  it  I  have  decided.  I  cannot  and  I  will  not.  I 
have  some  little  influence.  I  will  write  again.  I  will 
do  all  in  my  power  to  change  the  order.  But  I 
would  not  have  you  hope  ;  for  I,  I  do  not  hope.  Then, 
at  the  last,  if  it  cannot  be  changed,  some  one  else 
must  do  what  I  cannot.  This  shall  never  be  mine, 
nor  any  more  battles  and  cruelties.  I  shall  go  away." 

"  Write  it !  "  she  cried,  seizing  his  hands  in  wild 
eagerness.  "  Oh,  you  will !  You  will  beg  for  me  — 
you  will  plead  for  me !  " 

"  I  will  do  what  I  can,"  said  he,  without  hope. 

He  arose  from  beside  her. 

"  Oh,  thank  you  !  thank  you  !  "  she  cried,  passion 
ately. 

He  conquered  the  impulse  to  take  her  to  his  heart 
and  soothe  her;  and  went  away.  He  had  brought 
writing  materials  for  the  purpose  of  sending  orders  to 
his  troops  at  Tizapan.  He  secured  what  he  needed, 
including  a  lantern,  and  descended  to  the  shore  of 
the  bay.  Pepa's  candle  in  her  canoa  was  lit.  Her 
sailors  were  sleeping  among  the  rocks.  Bonavidas's 
boat  swayed  near  the  octagonal  tower,  anchored  a 
little  way  out,  its  occupants  seeking  rest  on  the 
shore.  The  other  of  ihejefe's  two  canoas  lay  farther 
off.  Rodrigo,  having  entered  the  tower,  wrote  the 
following  somewhat  stilted  reply  to  the  governor : 

"  If  my  past  services  and  my  friendship  to  you  may  ex 
cuse  this  temporary  disobedience  to  your  orders,  let  them. 


398  A    DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

Your  command  to  execute  the  prisoner  is  received.  I  do 
not  wish  this  to  be  your  final  decision.  I  do  not  wish  this 
man  to  be  killed.  I  do  not  think  it  necessary.  That  his 
nature  is  noble  and  not  that  of  the  adventurer  should  count 
for  something.  It  is  my  strenuous  desire,  greater  than  any 
desire  that  my  life  has  hitherto  borne,  to  spare  his  life.  As 
I  have  broken  his  power  and  captured  him,  may  I  not,  then, 
plead  for  him?  To  execute  him  would  be  to  lose  to  the 
world  one  honest  man,  whereas  honest  men  are  rare.  To 
spare  him  will  be  to  give  life  to  a  rare  soul,  which  in  you 
would  henceforth  outshine  all  virtues  and  all  deeds.  He 
can  be  taken  to  Guadalajara,  if  you  have  a  prison  you  con 
sider  safe.  If  not,  he  can  be  taken  to  some  other  city, 
many  leagues  away.  Let  him  be  imprisoned  till  you  know 
there  is  no  danger  from  him.  However  long  this  be  I  shall 
desire  no  lighter  punishment.  And  I  ask  you  for  this 
commutation  of  sentence  with  my  every  power  of  pleading 
in  the  asking.  My  heart  is  bound  up  in  this  request.  You 
speak  of  reward.  I  want  none,  —  I  can  take  none,  —  but 
this.  If  you  can  grant  it,  your  every  other  order  —  you 
know  it  well  —  will  be  obeyed  to  the  letter.  If  you  can 
not,  I  am  come  to  the  point  of  being  constrained  to  say 
that,  our  friendship  notwithstanding,  I  must  sever  our  con 
nection.  If  you  must  adhere  to  your  order,  I  cannot  and 
will  not  execute  it.  I  say  this  with  deference.  I  cannot 
and  will  not.  It  shall  only  remain  to  me,  then,  to  resign  my 
position  and  to  depart.  I  should  leave  the  country.  But 
I  shall  be  faithful  to  my  trust  till  this  moment  come.  For, 
I  shall  send  at  once,  the  wind  being  now  favorable,  for  all 
my  men  from  Tizapan.  I  shall  meanwhile  be  vigilant  in 
my  guarding  of  the  prisoner.  My  troops  shall  arrive  here 
ready  to  carry  out  the  dictates  of  your  command,  convey 
the  prisoner  to  Chapala  under  strong  guard  and  execute 
him,  provided  your  response  continues  with  the  same  deci 
sion.  Meanwhile  I  shall  adhere  thus  obediently  to  your 
order  as  it  is,  to  wit :  My  men  on  this  island  shall  be  ever 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  399 

ready  to  execute  the  prisoner.  If,  before  your  response 
comes,  there  arise  any  danger  of  his  rescue,  he  shall  be 
shot  here  and  at  once.  I  shall  consider  this  much  due  to 
the  oath  I  have  taken  before  you.  Finally,  understand  me 
well,  if  you  cannot  change  your  sentence,  Jet  there  be 
brought  in  company  with  the  letter  that  informs  me  of  that 
fact  an  order  conferring  the  power  oijefe  on  some  one  here 
who  can  execute  that  sentence ;  or,  if  you  do  not  choose 
one  of  my  men,  let  him  whom  you  do  choose  come  with 
the  order.  I  shall  withdraw  in  his  favor.  I  thank  you  for 
those  things  you  did  for  me.  I  shall  remember  our 
friendship." 

His  consciousness  that  he  was  pleading  in  a  man- 
nef  exactly  opposite  to  that  which  had  characterized 
all  his  former  vigorous  urgings  on  the  governor,  made 
his  sentences  somewhat  unnatural.  That  the  request 
itself  was  abnormal  and  almost  impossible  to  grant, 
made  them  lack  strength.  As  he  wrote,  the  cool 
night  wind  swept  in  at  the  wide  doorways  and  the 
waves  came  and  dashed  themselves  in  that  old,  eter 
nal  suicide  against  the  rocks  at  the  tower's  foot. 
When  he  had  written  it  and  read  it  over,  he  wrote  an 
order  to  the  leader  of  the  little  force  in  Tizapan  to 
the  effect  that,  provided  he  were  not  definitely  en 
gaged  in  the  overcoming  of  some  danger,  which  dan 
ger  should  be  immediate,  he  should  secure  canoas  at 
all  costs  and  hazards,  and  sail  for  the  island  with  his 
men  at  the  earliest  hour  possible. 

This  done,  Don  Rodrigo  descended  from  the  tower 
and  found  Bonavidas  and  his  men  outside.  To  the 
astounded  lieutenant  he  told  the  governor's  order  and 
his  objections.  He  gave  the  last  paper  he  had  writ 
ten,  containing  the  order  for  his  troops,  to  one  of 
Bonavidas's  companions. 


400  A  DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  he,  stiffly,  "  there  is  no  rest  for 
you  to-night.  The  three  of  you  must  carry  this  order 
to  Tizapan  at  once,  while  the  wind  from  the  north 
lasts.  Make  all  possible  speed.  Bonavidas  is  not  to 
accompany  you.  He  is  to  remain  here,  for  I  shall 
need  him  with  me." 

Wrapped  in  gloom,  Don  Rodrigo  ascended  to  the 
summit,  where  he  stood  and  watched  the  vessel  go. 
That  canoa,  being  poled  round  the  island  to  the  south 
ern  end  (where  the  prison  of  the  two  ruined,  tunnel- 
like  passages  reared  its  high  and  black  mystery),  was 
pushed  out  on  deeper  water  and  sailed  away  toward 
Tizapan.  It  has  already  been  said  that  these  boats 
cannot  sail  save  with  the  wind  pretty  well  in  the  stern. 
The  breeze,  having  been  found  favorable  for  the  jour 
ney  from  Guadalajara  to  the  island,  was  found  unfa 
vorable  for  a  return  toward  that  city.  So  the  sailing 
of  the  second  canoa,  which  was  to  retrace  that  course, 
was  postponed  till  a  change  of  wind. 

In  explaining  his  purpose  to  Bonavidas,  Rodrigo 
had  led  that  wily  lieutenant  to  a  point  some  distance 
from  the  shore,  and  had  spoken  in  whispers,  so  that 
his  voice  was  inaudible  to  all  but  Bonavidas  himself. 
But  in  giving  his  orders  for  the  journey  to  Tizapan 
the  jefe  had  stood  not  far  from  Pepa's  vessel,  and, 
there  being  no  cause  for  secrecy,  had  spoken  in  an 
ordinary  tone  of  voice.  Pepa,  as  earlier  in  the  day 
—  though  now  it  was  burning  hate  that  sharpened 
her  senses,  whereas  before  it  had  been  another  and 
a  somewhat  better  passion  —  if  she  saw  not,  heard. 

It  is  not  possible  to  say  what  course,  under  differ 
ent  circumstances,  the  hatred  and  vengeance  of  such 
a  one  might  have  taken.  She  had  lain  for  hours  on 
the  boat's  bottom.  At  times  she  had  been  weighed 
with  sorrow  or  pierced  by  pain.  She  had  even  felt 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  401 

stinging  remorse.  She  had  sunk  at  times  into  stupor. 
She  had  needed  love,  longed  for,  ruined  herself  for 
it.  She  had  lost  that  and  herself.  At  first,  even 
with  the  revulsion  and  the  hate,  she  wanted  to  die. 
Suicide,  however,  was  an  end  to  which  she  would 
never  come.  Then  the  hate  grew,  minute  by  minute, 
hour  by  hour.  Revenge  was  natural  to  her.  Ordi 
narily  one  would  expect  murder  to  be  the  end  of  that 
hate.  Indeed  she  thought  of  it,  her  heart  leaped  to  it. 
Fascinated  and  horror-stricken,  she  almost  longed  to 
do  it.  The  nature  that  could  do  what  she  had  already 
done,  could  not  be  wholly  incapable  of  that  other 
crime.  It  is  not  to  be  considered  unlikely  that,  had 
he  who  had  rejected  her  been  of  her  own  race,  he 
would  have  been  compelled  to  fight  for  his  life,  or 
more  likely  have  been  given  no  chance  to  fight,  on 
that  very  night,  a  night  so  hate-crazed  as  it  was  to  her. 
But  it  is  not  always  possible  to  say  that  hate  is  all 
hate  and  no  love.  She  ^doubtless  loved  him  still. 
Most  potent  fact  of  all  —  he  was  that  white  one,  he 
of  the  other  race,  he  to  whom  all  of  her  wildness  was 
nothing.  Could  the  knife  or  the  pistol  conquer  such 
a  one,  although  it  kill  him,  and  satisfy  her?  His 
nature  still  awed  her.  It  had  ever  baffled  her, 
making  her  feel  that  her  different  battery  of  powers 
was  ineffectual  against  that  man  of  another  race. 
To  slay,  to  wreak  vengeance,  that  was  associated  in 
her  mind  with  her  own  personality,  was  therefore  a 
part  of  that  system  which  had  ever  been  powerless 
to  produce  an  effect  on  him.  So  she  strangely 
halted  at  the  deed,  as  though  it  would  not  have  in 
it  the  essence  to  satisfy  her.  At  all  events  she  would 
not  be  capable  of  any  deed  whatever  for  some  hours. 
All  was  too  feverish.  Midnight  or  the  early  morn 
ing  would  suffice.  She  would  then  plan. 

26 


402  A    DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

She  heard  him  come  to  the  tower  and  she  crept  to 
the  boat's  end  and  saw  him  writing.  She  could  have 
killed  him  with  ease,  for  she  had  her  weapon  as 
always.  She  turned  sick  and  sank  to  the  floor  again. 
After  a  time  she  heard  him  give  the  order  to  sail 
for  Tizapan.  During  the  feverish  hours  pictures  of 
Quiroz  had  at  times  presented  themselves  to  her 
mind.  His  fierceness,  his  cat-like  cruelty,  seemed  to 
her  qualities  that  roused  answering  ones  in  her. 
Quiroz  loved  her,  though  she  cared  little  for  him. 
Quiroz  would  kill,  too,  where  she  feared  to  kill. 
The  dashing,  reckless,  dangerous  course  of  Quiroz 
appealed  to  her,  in  the  hours  of  hot  blood,  as  the 
only  course  wherein  she  could  bury  this  sorrow, 
drown  or  crush  this  great  pain.  Who  has  not  felt 
it  —  that  desire  to  do  away  with  what  is  painful  by 
dashing  into  long  dangers?  It  is  possible,  had 
Quiroz  been  then  present,  he  could  have  gotten  her 
away.  At  all  events,  whatever  happened,  she  sud 
denly  realized  that  Quiroz  was  her  only  friend  on 
earth,  that,  after  revenge  or  without  it,  a  career  with 
Quiroz  was  the  only  thing  that  opened  itself.  For 
to  do  nothing  after  these  days  of  fire,  was  as  impos 
sible  to  her  as  it  is  impossible  to  sheathe  a  flame 
and  preserve  it  living.  And  all  the  world  would 
loathe  her,  save  Quiroz. 

She  saw  the  jcfe  ascend  to  the  summit.  She  per 
ceived  he  had  left  all  his  writing  materials  in  the 
tower,  even  left  his  lantern  burning.  He  had  for 
gotten  them  all ;  he  had  forgotten  the  tower  and  that 
which  had  happened  there.  She  saw  an  opportunity 
to  communicate  with  Quiroz.  The  vessel  about  to 
depart  could  not  come  back  before  to-morrow  night 
at  earliest  —  probably  would  be  away  longer.  She 
did  not  believe  Quiroz  would  have  returned,  as  yet, 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  403 

to  Tizapan.  He  could  come  here  later  in  another 
vessel.  She  would  not,  could  not,  depart  with  Clarita, 
that  pure  and  grieving  reminder  of  her  perfidy.  She 
could  not  go  alone.  Quiroz  could  be  duped,  at  least, 
into  getting  her  away.  Beyond  that  she  did  not  think. 
Meanwhile  her  plans  for  revenge  could  mature  or  die. 
She  hated  as  recklessly,  here  with  the  wind  blowing 
over  her,  as  she  had  on  the  boat's  bottom.  She  saw 
a  plan  clearly.  If  she  should  nerve  herself  to  the 
terrible  deed,  let  it  be  done  on  the  following  night, 
or  when  she  should  see  Quiroz's  sail  at  hand,  have 
Quiroz's  canoa  in  which  to  leap  and  escape,  and 
Quiroz's  approbation  and  daring  to  lend  her  firmness. 
All  this  was  the  product  of  but  a  moment's  thought. 
She  was  at  once  in  the  tower.  She  heard  the  sol 
diers  preparing  to  embark.  To  do  so  one  of  them 
must  wade  to  the  canoay  then  pole  it  in.  So  she  was 
allowed  a  short  time  for  her  purpose.  She  wrote 
thus : — 

"  Doroteo  Quiroz  :  As  you  hold  my  heart,  so  I  love  you. 
You  are  wondering,  where  is  this  wild  one?  A  resolve 
came  to  me  to  try  my  powers  on  the  obdurate  jefe.  I 
wanted,  where  you  had  failed,  to  win  him  and  his  troops  to 
this  our  great  cause.  I  was  idle  and  wasting  time.  I  cannot 
bear  to  be  idle.  I  said,  I  will  win  this  other  force  and  this 
leader  while  Doroteo  is  away.  I  am  on  Prison  Island  and 
he  is  here.  He  is  weak-hearted  and  no  man  for  us.  He 
will  not  join,  though  I  have  urged  it  long.  And  I  curse 
him  as  do  you.  So  come  for  me.  Come  at  once.  I  have 
no  other  means  of  return.  I  await  you,  to  go  with  you. 
To  the  earth's  end  or  to  the  sea's  bottom  Pepa  is  yours." 

She  hastened  out  of  the  tower.  She  could  not 
trust  this  letter  to  the  soldiers.  She  awoke  one  of 
her  own  sailors,  one  of  those  Fortino  had  picked  up 


4o4  A    DREAM   OF  A    THRONE 

The  man  was  ready  to  do  anything  for  money.  She 
paid  him  and  assured  him  Quiroz  would  pay  him 
more.  He  was  to  go  to  Doroteo's  house  and  wait 
till  he  should  see  the  message  in  that  warrior's  hand. 
The  man  agreed.  He  went  to  the  soldiers  and,  with 
some  trouble,  secured  passage.  They  thought  he 
was  deserting  his  ship.  Pepa  casually  informed 
them  that  she  had  given  him  permission  to  go,  for 
she  did  not  need  him.  So  they  finally  took  him ; 
and  when  the  vessel  sailed  out  toward  Tizapan  with 
Rodrigo's  eye  following  it  into  the  shadows,  it  bore 
Pepa's  letter  concealed  in  the  sailor's  loose  white 
shirt. 

The  night  passed  and  the  day  came.  It  was  after 
noon  before  the  more  ordinary  wind  from  the  south 
west  came  up.  Three  soldiers  then  departed  with 
theje/es  other  canoa  for  the  shore  and  Guadalajara. 
The  boat  in  which  Fortino  and  the  girl  had  come, 
and  which  Pepa  had  been  occupying,  was  now  the 
only  vessel  at  the  island. 

Clarita  and  Fortino  prepared  a  silent  and  gloomy 
breakfast,  dinner,  and  supper  on  the  shore  by  the 
tower — frijoles,  a  little  pork,  some  tortillas  and 
sweet  bread,  and  fruit.  Clarita  barely  touched  food. 
Even  Fortino  had  no  appetite.  He  was  wondering 
what  he  should  do  now.  If  the  girl  would  stay  must 
he,  then,  sail  away  and  bring  her  provisions  till  she 
would  go?  Well,  he  could  do  that.  She  had  never 
thought  of  the  running  short  of  food.  The^V/i',  she 
knew,  would  care  for  her.  She  thought  only  of 
Vicente.  Pepa  came  to  one  or  two  of  these  meals, 
and  ate  a  little  more  heartily  than  did  the  others, 
but  with  her  eye,  dark  and  burning,  cast  out  over 
the  lake,  seeing  nothing  that  was  real,  seeing  only 
visions,  the  form  and  the  import  of  which  it  was  well 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  405 

her  companions  knew  not.  Pepa  was  as  she  had 
never  been  before,  and  it  was  as  though  the  spirit  of 
tragedy  walked  with  her. 

All  that  day  the  prisoner  paced  the  floor  to  and 
fro.  The  calmness  of  his  face  had  given  place  to  a 
strained  look  that  had  in  it  an  unwonted  sorrow.  He 
too  saw  visions,  deeds  of  the  long  ago,  crimes  and 
monastery  walls.  He  was  waiting,  too,  for  Pepa. 
Surely  she  would  come  to-day.  Every  hour  he  thought 
he  heard  her  footstep.  Why  did  she  wait  —  why  did 
she  not  come  to  comfort  him?  Noon  came  straight 
into  the  cactus-choked  patio  and  he  saw  her  not. 
The  afternoon  wore  on  and  he  was  restless  and 
oppressed,  with  the  meaning  of  the  coming  night 
scarcely  bringing  an  alleviation  of  the  weight.  Even 
ing  approached  and  she  had  not  come.  What  was 
it,  then,  that  she  had  sailed  here  to  do  ?  Why  did  she 
not  come  to  him  ?  He  argued  at  length  that  they 
had  not  permitted  it.  He  fought  against  the  shadow 
of  his  old  unreasonable  doubt.  At  nightfall,  she  not 
having  come,  he  groaned  within  himself  and  cried  : 

"  What  are  my  hopes  —  what  is  my  faith  ?  What 
soul  cares  for  me  or  would  see  me  free?  My  birth 
was  black ;  let  death  come  to  me  black  as  my  birth. 
To  whom  can  I  trust  my  freedom?  For  she  came 
not.  Yet  to  her  I  must  trust  it  —  there  is  no  other." 

Again  night  came  down  on  the  lake. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  unexpected  had  occurred  on  the  lake's 
southern  side.  This  was  not  the  first  time  that 
a  force  so  easily  and  quickly  raised,  had  vanished  as 
quickly.  The  personal  power  that  holds  men  to 
gether  and  produces  enthusiasm,  being  removed,  dis 
solution  may  be  immediately  at  hand.  An  army 
needs  a  head  to  hold  it  together.  It  falls  to  pieces 
without  it.  Most  fatal  fact  of  all,  it  was  believed 
among  that  scattered  band  that  Vicente  had  been 
long  since  lodged  in  a  Guadalajara  prison,  and  that 
nothing  but  storming  and  taking  that  great  city 
could  rescue  him.  In  the  cavalry  that  had  fled  there 
was  not  one  born  leader.  No  one  of  its  number  had 
the  genius  to  gather  it  together  again  for  that  super 
human  deed.  Doroteo  alone  possessed  that  genius. 

But  bitter  failure  had  met  all  the  efforts  of  Quiroz. 
He  had  ridden  out  from  Tizapan  reasonably  sure  of 
returning  with  a  not  inconsiderable  body  of  troops. 
He  knew  almost  every  man  of  Vicente's  army  by 
name.  He  knew  the  dwelling-places  and  the  prob 
able  retreats  in  flight  of  the  chief  figures  of  that 
scattered  band.  They  had  learned  his  bravery  and 
received  not  a  few  attentions  from  his  adroit  flattery. 
They  were  dissatisfied  with  the  hard  life  peace  had 
led  them.  He  would  give  them  views  of  bigger 
game  even  than  Vicente  had  held  out.  He  went  forth, 
too,  with  the  determination  to  promise  plunder  and 
win  allegiance  in  the  old  Roman  fashion. 


A   DREAM   OF  A    THRONE  407 

Probably  the  only  matter  in  which  Quiroz  could 
have  fatally  deceived  himself  was  in  that  of  other 
men's  belief  in  him.  That  ordinary  minds  should 
come  to  suspect  his  sincerity  was  a  supposition  not 
easily  lodged  in  his  brain.  Perhaps  this  may  be 
called  his  greatest  weakness —  that  he  was  too  sure  of 
his  ever  ready  deceit.  At  no  other  point  would  he 
have  been  vulnerable,  watching  all  his  armor  with  a 
lynx'  eye.  But  there  was  under  the  smooth  polite 
ness  of  this  gambler  a  vanity  that  was  somewhat  of 
an  enormity.  That  those  churls  who  had  fled  should 
suspect  him,  was  therefore  not  considered  possible 
by  him.  But  such  was  the  case. 

He  rode  from  Jiquilpan  to  the  mountains,  from 
mountains  to  lake,  from  village  to  village.  Having  oc 
cupied  some  days  in  the  search,  he  found  the  scattered 
ones.  He  whispered  his  plans  privately  in  many  an 
ear.  He  gathered  a  little  band  of  those  who  had 
followings  and  appealed  to  them  with  all  his  art  and 
his  earnestness,  and  with  all  his  lies  —  a  speech  that  a 
Roman  indeed  might  have  been  proud  to  make.  He 
found  deaf  ears  and  eyes  cast  askance  at  him.  Re 
buffed,  he  scoured  again  shore  and  mountain.  He 
urged,  he  pleaded,  he  called  forth  the  full  battery  of 
his  powers.  He  found  the  scattered  army  determined 
not  to  follow  him.  He  once  more  secured  the  pres 
ence  of  some  of  the  chief  men  at  a  spot  on  the  shore 
and  made  his  last  mighty  effort,  of  promise,  flattery, 
scorn,  deceit.  They  became  exasperated.  They 
broke  out  finally  and  told  him  the  truth.  The  real 
leader,  said  they,  he  who  should  be  king,  was  cap 
tured.  They  could  not  rally  round  Vicente.  They 
would  not  go  wildly  after  another  to  support  a  base 
less  project.  The  army  lacked  its  head  and  its  pur 
pose.  They  looked  with  little  faith  on  a  course  across 


4o3  A    DREAM   OF  A    THRONE 

mountains  to  that  distant  City  of  Mexico  where  the 
central  government  held  powers  unknown.  And 
finally  they  told  him  plainly  they  had  no  faith  in 
him.  The  true  perpetrator  of  that  treachery  in  Tiza- 
pan,  was  not  altogether  unsuspected.  With  that  they 
sullenly  departed. 

So  the  matter  was  hopeless.  The  game  was  lost. 
Quiroz  was  for  an  instant  stunned.  But  he  rallied  at 
once.  After  all,  these  were  not  a  notably  fierce  people. 
For  the  most  part  they  had  lived  a  sufficiently  quiet 
and  primitive  life.  It  had  been  the  particular  influ 
ences  that  worked  for  Vicente  that  had  roused  them. 
When  Vicente  was  captured,  the  blood  of  the  enter 
prise  was  let  out.  And  if,  finally,  they  suspected  him, 
he  knew  the  truth  of  his  failure.  After  one  bad  hour 
of  dismay,  his  natural  quickness  of  intelligence  showed 
him  how  fatal  was  that  suspicion.  So,  with  a  lasting 
bitterness  and  a  somewhat  novel  lack  of  his  old  suave 
manner,  he  returned  to  Tizapan. 

All  his  old  desperation  became  sharpened  and 
invigorated.  He  was  becoming  even  abnormally 
reckless.  He  would  risk  his  head  on  the  first  chance 
and  wring  by  sheer  desperate  force  some  kind  of 
compensation  from  that  fortune  whose  wheel  had 
ever  been  his  god.  At  least  he  had  the  girl.  He 
would  dash  away  with  her  to  the  southeast.  There 
lay  his  arena.  Let  him  loose  his  leash  of  devilish 
powers  in  that  pot  of  intrigues  and  battles  called  the 
City  of  Mexico.  He  would  wrench  success  up  by  the 
roots.  If  he  now  was,  in  the  game,  down  to  his  last 
coin,  let  him  gallop  away  with  the  girl,  stake  it  on 
the  red  indeed,  play  his  last  mad  play  yonder  where 
the  great  game  was  fiercest  —  and  win  much  or  lose 
all.  He  cast  maledictions  on  the  lake  and  the  state 
wherein  it  lay  and,  with  them,  all  past  associations. 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  409 

He  grew  hotter  in  exasperation  and  eagerness  as  he 
approached  his  home. 

He  entered  Tizapan  in  the  night  and  did  not  find 
Pepa.  He  searched  the  place  for  her  with  a  brutal 
vim.  Some  one  said  she  had  sailed  away  in  a  canoa. 
Then  was  it  that  rage  was  born  in  Quiroz.  He  would 
then  have  thrown  fortune  itself  away  to  grasp  the 
girl.  His  mother  found  him  fierce  and  fearful  for 
one  awful  hour.  That  poor  trembling  lady  deemed 
her  son  gone  mad,  and  with  devout  assurance  (a  cer 
tainty  no  visitation  from  Heaven  could  have  moved) 
blamed  that  strange  Senorita  Josefa  Aranja  for  all 
this  misery.  Then  Doroteo  was  suddenly  himself 
again  —  he  was  never  otherwise  for  long  —  become 
calm,  cool,  keen,  graceful  as  of  old.  He  was  deter 
mining  to  cut  his  way  through  all  earth's  powers, 
steadily,  remorselessly,  and  secure  that  vanished 
woman  who  had  ever  been  to  him  like  strong  wine. 
He  was  secretly  gathering  his  courage ;  tempering, 
for  the  relentless  pursuit,  his  spirit  —  as  it  were,  try 
ing  its  edge  and  ringing  its  metal  as  though  it  had 
been  a  steel  blade. 

It  was  then  that,  in  the  early  morning,  Pepa's  note 
was  placed  in  his  hands. 

Pepa  herself,  on  that  day,  in  the  midst  of  her  many 
visions,  dreamed  at  times  of  Quiroz's  success.  He 
would  gather  up  the  troops.  She  finally  decided  he 
could  not  return  to  Tizapan  for  several  days,  perhaps 
would  be  occupied  by  his  task  of  reorganization  much 
longer.  Her  time  of  vengeance  was  instinctively 
postponed. 

About  noon,  when  the  wind  had  changed  to  the 
southwest  and  the  canoa  with  the  message  for  the 
governor  had  departed,  could  those  on  the  island 
have  seen  the  Tizapan  river  and  its  marshes  they 


410  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

would  have  perceived  a  vessel  poled  thence  into  the 
lake  and  a  sail  raised.  But  Tizapan  was  too  far 
away.  At  most  the  finest  eye  could  have  detected 
only  a  faint  spot  of  white,  the  sunlight  barely  glim 
mering  from  it  as  it  floated  yonder  on  the  distant 
waters,  whose  vast  waste,  yellow  in  the  midday  sun, 
circled  it  about  and  bore  it  like  a  still  and  tiny  jewel. 

Josefa  Aranja  grew,  toward  evening,  chilled  of  soul. 
For  she  must  not  be  looked  upon  as  of  that  proverb 
ially  heartless,  murderous,  Mexican-Spanish  nature, 
which  kills  with  ease.  If  she  should  ever  come  to 
the  point  of  killing  that  white  foreigner,  it  would  be 
after  passing  through  many  fires.  Finally,  she 
dreaded  the  deed ;  it  sickened  her.  She  remained 
cold  and  silent.  Life  for  her  rotted. 

By  the  afternoon's  middle  that  tiny  white  spot  was 
a  very  little  larger  and  a  little  whiter. 

The  night,  the  same  Vicente  had  seen  come  with 
despair,  and  yet  in  which  he  hoped  to  make  his  es 
cape  from  that  place  of  gloom,  came  on.  The  sunset 
was  one  of  those  seldom  failing  ones  of  beauty  that 
are  the  lake's  chief  charm.  The  visible  universe  was, 
for  an  hour,  steeped,  suffocated,  drowned  in  red. 
The  mountains  seemed  melting  in  that  deep,  incarna 
dined  flood  of  light.  The  lake  flowed  living  blood. 
The  sky  was  a  vast  dome  of  blazing  crimson. 

The  tiny  spot  of  white  had  reached  and  passed  the 
lake's  centre,  and  was  less  tiny.  It  turned,  in  the 
new  light,  from  white  to  red,  and  flashed  that  color 
back  to  the  west  like  the  flashing  of  the  red  wing  of 
a  distant  bird. 

About  eight  o'clock,  when  the  night  had  come  in 
deed,  Clarita,  bearing  with  her,  as  always,  her  sor 
row,  yet  with  a  new  emotion  growing  in  spite  of  all 
deeds  within  her,  chanced  to  be  walking  by  the  shore 


A  DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  411 

at  a  point  about  half-way  between  the  octagonal 
tower  and  the  island's  southern,  prison-crowned  end. 
The  path  was  among  great  rocks,  and  well  concealed. 
The  heights  of  the  island  towered  over  her  on  the 
left,  the  lake's  waves  beat  on  her  right.  She  had 
been  near  the  door  of  her  brother's  prison  all  day. 
She  had  spent  the  hours  in  suspense  and  loneliness. 
After  trying  to  eat  a  little  by  the  tower  (the  Mexican 
supper  is  always  late)  she  had  wandered  here,  letting 
the  night  breeze  blow  over  her  face,  watching  the 
stars,  gathering  some  little  peace  from  nature,  the 
only  possible  source,  before  she  should  return  to 
the  church  for  the  night. 

She  could  dimly  see  the  forms  of  a  few  soldiers  on 
the  upper  crest  against  the  sky.  She  believed  she 
recognized  Rodrigo  himself,  more  than  a  hundred 
feet  over  her,  walking  slowly  along  the  island's  upper 
edge  and  blotting  out  stars  as  he  went.  Only  the  sky 
enabled  her  to  see.  She  on  the  ground  and  so  far 
below  could  not  have  been  detected  by  those  above. 
She  watched  that  moving  figure  with  pain  and  long 
ing.  His  very  vigilance  was  her  grief.  She  recalled 
that  habit  she  had  seen  in  him  of  slowly  patrolling 
the  whole  edge  of  the  island  thus  every  night,  some 
times  arising  from  sleep  to  keep  his  own  eye  on  his 
realm's  boundaries.  The  figure  disappeared. 

She  walked  on,  and  there  was  a  shadow  moving 
there  before  her  among  the  rocks.  She  stopped, 
holding  her  breath.  The  shadow  was  still  likewise. 
She  believed  that  she  had  imagined  it.  This  rugged 
way  leading  to  nothing  was  surely  deserted.  She 
walked  on,  a  little  afraid.  The  shadow  suddenly  came 
out  from  behind  a  boulder,  and,  showing  itself  to  be 
the  crouching  figure  of  a  man,  came  before  her  and 
held  out  something  white  in  its  hand.  She  was  so 


4i2  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

frightened  that  she  turned  and  ran.  Running,  her 
vigilance  for  Vicente,  her  readiness  for  every  chance 
to  help  him,  made  her  suddenly  imagine  (in  her 
brain  that  was  ever  imagining  escape  and  ever  seem 
ing  to  receive  messages  from  him)  the  very  thing 
that  proved  to  be  true.  She  made  herself  stop.  She 
turned,  and  the  shadow  was  before  her.  Her  fear  in 
creased,  so  that  her  limbs  shook.  But  the  fact  that 
there  was  a  chance,  however  slight,  that  the  message 
came  from  the  prisoner  (her  woman's  mind  unrea- 
soningly  and  at  once  grasped  at  that  chance),  made 
her  determination  not  to  run  away  as  moveless  as 
rock.  She  took  the  paper,  and  the  shadow  was  gone, 
to  be  seen  no  more. 

She  ran  then,  terror-stricken  now  that  the  danger 
was  over,  and  came  to  the  canoa.  Pepa  was  not 
there ;  she  was  half-way  up  the  ascent  seated  on  the 
rocks  alone.  Fortino  was  in  the  tower.  The  canoa 
was  anchored  very  near  the  ruins  of  the  pier,  so  near 
as  barely  to  be  safe  when  the  waves  dashed  it  toward 
the  rocks.  Pepa  had  had  it  brought  thus  with  pur 
pose.  She  could  then,  when  it  floated  to  its  chain's 
length  and  was  nearest  land,  easily  leap  to  its  stern 
from  the  elevation  of  the  pier.  Yet  it  could  not  come 
so  close  as  to  strike.  Clarita,  naturally  timid,  was 
growing  bold.  She  could  not  wait  to  make  that  long 
ascent  to  the  church  for  a  light. 

She  came  to  the  edge  of  the  pier.  The  waves 
dashed  spray  over  her.  The  vessel  came  swaying 
toward  her,  borne  on  a  billow,  and  was  brought  up 
with  a  jerk  by  the  anchor  chain,  the  stern  near  her. 
She  nerved  herself  and  leaped  over  the  narrow  chasm 
and  came  safely  into  the  canoa.  She  found  the 
matches  and  the  candle,  made  a  light,  and  with  trem 
bling  fingers  opened  the  paper.  She  saw  with  blind- 


A   DREAM   OF  A    THRONE  413 

ing  joy  that  the  writing  was  his.  Her  brain  swam, 
and  she  could  scarcely  read.  The  first  word  halted 
her.  It  was  "  Pepa."  But  could  she  be  blamed,  in 
her  great  love  and  her  longing,  for  reading  on,  when 
the  words  were  his  and  she  would  do  anything  to  help 
him?  She  could  no  more  have  stopped  at  that  word 
than  the  breeze  that  lifted  these  billows  could  be 
turned  back  in  its  course.  She  devoured  the  lines 
with  an  eagerness  that  was  pain.  They  were  these : 

PEPA,  —  There  is  a  means  of  escape.  At  ten  o'clock  to 
night  bring  the  canoa,  you  and  Fortino,  with  what  secrecy 
you  can,  to  the  southern  end  of  the  island  ;  anchor  it  as 
near  shore  as  possible,  with  the  anchor  ready  to  be  imme 
diately  lifted.  It  must  be  directly  under  the  southeastern 
corner  of  the  prison  that  stands  on  the  southern  end.  If 
my  life  is  of  value,  fail  me  not. 

VICENTE. 

She  realized  that  she  must  lose  no  time.  She  came 
to  the  boat's  end  to  leap  out.  Before  she  could  do 
so  Pepa  stepped  across  the  chasm  and  was  beside  her. 
The  older  girl  had  seen  the  light.  It  was  suddenly 
clear  to  Clarita  that,  though  she  still  had  that  old  dis 
trust  of  Pepa,  the  boat  could  not  be  secured  and  re 
moved  without  Pepa's  knowledge.  The  latter,  too, 
was  too  shrewd  that  Fortino  and  Clarita  could  hope 
to  carry  out  so  great  a  project  and  she  be  ignorant  of 
it.  Lastly  and  most  weighty,  Pepa  was  wonderfully 
cunning,  bold  and  strong  to  perform.  Her  help 
would  be  invaluable.  Vicente,  by  this  very  note, 
trusted  the  whole  to  that  girl.  Then  she,  too,  could 
and  must  trust  her.  She  gave  her  the  note,  explain 
ing  how  she  had  received  it,  and  Pepa  read  it. 

When  she  had  grasped  the  significance  of  this 
communication,  for  one  long  minute  the  great  eyes 


<i4  A   DREAAf  OF  A    THRONE 

of  Joscfa  Aranja  stared  into  those  of  Clarita,  while 
the  boat  rocked  and  the  candle-flame  sputtered  in  the 
wind  that  swept  under  the  thatch.  That  minute  de 
cided  Pepa's  course  and  her  vengeance.  The  dread 
of  murder  fell  from  her  like  a  black  and  heavy  cloak, 
and  her  heart  stood  out  strong  and  free,  relieved, 
bounding  with  exultation,  —  as  though  she  had  been 
committed  to  the  crime,  bent  down  by  the  thing  she 
must  do,  and  was  suddenly  given  liberty.  To  her 
credit  let  it  be  remembered  that  her  greatest  joy  in 
the  deed  of  the  night  was  that  she  would  not  now  be 
led  to  do  a  worse  one.  What  could  have  been  more 
fitting  to  her  wishes,  to  her  hate,  than  this?  She  had 
sacrificed  Vicente  for  him  who  had  not  received  her. 
Now,  in  the  latter's  fancied  security  of  possession,  to 
revenge  herself  by  taking  away  the  very  thing  she 
had  given,  and  scorn  his  scorn  and  baffle  his  vigilance 
and  laugh  her  contempt  to  the  night  wind  as  she 
sailed  away  with  Don  Rodrigo's  prize,  —  more  than 
this,  to  thus  undo  her  treachery,  repent  of  the  deed 
that  had  been  loathsome  to  her,  by  the  deed's  undo 
ing,  and  save  thus  some  faith  in  herself  and  some 
honor  from  others,  —  oh,  then  did  her  whole  life  re 
vive,  and  decay  was  no  more,  and  the  blood  in  her 
veins  was  full  of  the  fire  of  that  sweet  revenge  ! 

She  bade  Clarita  wait  till  she  should  bring  the 
giant,  and  then  she  leaped  out  to  the  pier  and  was 
gone. 

That  sail  that  had  been  the  tiny  spot  of  white  near 
Tizapan,  and  had  turned  to  red  in  the  lake's  middle 
when  the  sun  set,  now  that  the  darkness  had  come 
was  invisible.  It  might  have  sailed  on  toward  Cha- 
pala's  towers,  or  swerved  a  little  and  be  now  yonder 
on  the  course  to  Ocotlan.  It  might  be  coming  on, 
too,  straight  toward  these  rocks  to  which  no  com- 


A   DREAM    OF  A    THRONE  415 

merce  came,  and  round  which  no  fisher  dipped  his 
circling  net;  so  that,  had  some  lightning  flashed  out 
of  that  clear  sky,  it  might  have  been  seen,  grown 
larger  and  turned  white  again,  sailing  on,  sailing  on. 

Scarce  a  minute  elapsed  (a  minute  of  the  deepest 
anxiety  to  her  who  remained  in  the  rocking  canod) 
before  Pepa  returned  and  entered  the  boat  with  the 
giant.  The  three,  like  conspirators  of  old  (ah,  strange 
trio  ye  !  with  what  differing  hopes  and  fears  and  pur 
poses,  each  borne  on,  like  every  other  of  the  race  of 
men,  by  the  varying  waves  of  your  hearts'  emotions  !) 
—  the  three  crouched  down  on  the  boat's  flat  and 
heaving  bottom,  and  out  of  that  curious  union  of 
interests  the  plan  was  born. 

"  The  greatest  danger,"  growled  the  now  gleaming- 
eyed  giant,  in  whom  the  news  had  aroused  a  joy  so 
awful  that  his  observers  were  astounded  at  it,  "  is 
this :  That  infernal /^/fc  makes  the  circuit  of  the  upper 
shores  at  least  three  times  every  night.  You  say  he 
might  be  absent  at  the  moment,  —  but  I,  wreck  that 
I  am,  believe  it  not.  The  devil  that  haunts  Fortino 
and  drags  me  under  his  hoofs  will  bring  Rodrigo  to 
that  very  end  when  the  time  comes.  I  know  it — on 
my  soul,  I  know  it!  " 

Pepa,  during  the  last  of  this  brief  and  hasty  discus 
sion,  had  sat  in  a  profound  revery.  She  now  looked 
up  and  cast  her  deep  eyes  on  each  in  turn.  Then 
she  laid  her  fingers,  much  as  Quiroz  might  have 
done,  on  Fortino's  shoulder. 

"  Listen,  friend,"  said  she ;  "  you  are  right.  There 
is  the  chance  of  the  failure,  though  it  be  small.  But 
there  shall  be  no  chance.  I  shall  not  accompany 
you.  Go  you  with  Clarita.  Slip  round  the  island  in 
the  dark  with  the  vessel.  Do  you  your  duty.  Think 
not  of  me.  When  the  anchor  is  raised  for  the  last 


4i6  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

time,  fear  not,"  and  a  deep  sadness  suffused  her  eyes 
with  tears.  Who  could  read  that  intricate  mind,  still 
less  the  untamed  but  love-torn  heart?  "Fear  not; 
if  I  am  not  with  you,  I  shall  be  where  best  the  time 
suits.  Friend,  go  on.  Leave  this/</r  politico  to  me." 

They  demurred.  She  was  obdurate  and  she  was 
capable.  Her  help  thus  was  needed.  They  agreed. 
She  leaped  out  to  land,  and  disappeared.  It  was 
after  nine  o'clock  when  the  anchor  was  finally  raised, 
and,  with  but  two  occupants,  the  boat  glided  in 
silence  out  and  thence  along  the  shore.  It  was  well 
that  the  night  was  dark  and  that  there  were  no  soldiers 
immediately  at  hand.  But  the  chance  of  being  seen 
was  always  a  living  chance.  For  one  man  to  pole  a 
canoa  among  waves  is  as  nearly  impossible  as  any 
thing  that  might  be  done  can  be.  But  if  any  man  on 
earth  could  do  it,  Fortino  could ;  and  he  did,  putting 
out  all  his  fisherman's  skill  and  his  great  strength, 
inspired  by  hopes  that  made  every  inch  of  his  huge 
body  tingle,  dreaming  of  this  glorious  redemption  of 
his  great  loss,  this  resurrection  of  his  dead  repute  ; 
dreaming  most  constantly  of  all,  with  homely  hon 
esty,  of  doing  this  momentous  deed  for  the  man  who 
still  believed  in  him. 

The  sail  that  had  been  the  white  spot  and  the  red 
spot  was  still  invisible.  Wherever  it  should  come  to 
land,  whether  it  be  at  Chapala,  or  at  Ocotlan,  or 
under  these  precipices,  it  would  sail  straight  at  the 
rocks  in  silent  boldness,  appearing  suddenly,  looming 
out  of  the  night  like  a  scudding  spirit. 

Rodrigo  was  striding  to  and  fro  in  the  gloom  on 
the  island's  top,  buried  in  thought,  passing  and  re- 
passing  that  larger  square  tower  that  stands  between 
the  two  prisons.  His  course  brought  him  at  times 
not  far  from  the  edge  of  the  precipitous  descent  that 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  417 

overlooked  the  western  shore.  He  was  alone  among 
boulders,  cacti,  and  the  ruins,  there  being  no  guards 
near  him.  Toward  ten  o'clock  he  approached  that 
western  edge  for  the  tenth  time,  on  the  point  of  con 
tinuing  his  restless  course  round  the  island.  He  sud 
denly  caught  a  sound,  other  than  the  sighing  of  the 
night  breeze.  It  was  a  soft  and  unwonted  sound, 
such  as  these  solitudes  seldom  heard,  half  a  sob, 
half  a  moan.  It  came  from  among  rocks  that  clus 
tered  in  shadows  a  little  inward  from  the  island's 
upper  rim.  He  paused  in  wonder,  looked,  and  per 
ceived  a  little  gleam  of  white  among  the  boulders. 
He  came  nearer. 

It  seemed  there  was  a  human  form  lying  supine 
upon  the  flat  surface  of  a  stone,  its  face  turned  toward 
him,  but  partly  hidden  by  its  arms.  Half  he  recog 
nized  it,  and  was  seized  with  an  unreasoning  dread. 
There  was  a  second  moan.  He  was  too  much  of  a 
man  not  to  answer  that  distress.  He  came  quickly 
and  silently  close.  He  saw  it  was  Pepa,  flung  down 
there  alone;  her  hair  loose  and  scattered  over  the 
rock ;  her  arms,  half  bare,  hiding  her  eyes,  so  that  it 
seemed  that  she  did  not  see  him.  She  moved  a  little 
and  turned,  as  one  in  long,  dull  pain  stupefied.  Re 
morse  struck  deep  in  his  heart.  He  stood  over  her, 
and  spoke  her  name  unsteadily : 

"  Pepa ! " 

She  threw  her  arms  back  and  left  her  face  bare, 
staring  up  at  him  with  eyes  whose  light  the  night 
could  not  obscure,  yet  than  which  the  night  itself 
could  not  have  been  blacker.  She  looked  at  him  as 
though  she  did  not  readily  recognize  him.  Then, 
with  a  start,  she  arose,  ran  a  few  steps,  and  stumbled 
and  fell.  In  real  agitation  he  was  beside  her. 

"  Pepa !   Pepa  !  What  is  it?     You  are  hurt !  " 

27 


4i8  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

She  half  arose,  but  sank  back. 

"  No,"  she  said  with  infinite  wretchedness  in  her 
voice.  "I  —  I  hurt?  What  is  there,  man,  that  could 
hurt  me?  No,  no  ;  Pepa  is  well  —  happy.  Why  do 
you  haunt  me?  Why  can  I  have  not  even  solitude, 
which  alone  is  left  to  me?" 

"  I  will  leave  you  if  you  will,"  said  he  quickly. 
"  But  you  are  in  pain,  and  you  have  fallen.  You  do 
not  believe  me  so  brutal  as  to  be  unmoved  by  this. 
Come,  for  the  last  time  and  sincerely  —  is  there  not 
something  that  I  can  do?  At  least  stay  not  here 
and  thus,  or  my  unhappiness  is  grown  beyond 
endurance ! " 

"  Do?  "  said  she  dully.  "  What  is  the  word,  and 
what  does  it  signify?  Don  Rodrigo,  the  doing  is 
done.  The  crime,  the  throwing  away,  the  death. 
You,  who  are  still  alive,  speak  of  doing  —  say  it  not 
to  me.  I  have  died,  Don  Rodrigo.  Why  did  you 
come  and  why  have  you  spoken  to  me? — me  who 
am  dead — dead." 

The  pitiable  tone  of  the  words  tore  his  heart.  He 
believed  for  the  moment  that  she  was  losing  her  mind, 
at  least  was  so  stricken  by  grief  that  she  knew  not 
what  she  said. 

"  No,  no  !  "  he  cried.  "There  is  life  and  hope  for 
you.  Despair,  girl,  is  not  for  you.  It  cannot  be! 
You  are  too  young.  Rise  from  this  blackness  and 
blot  out  my  face  from  your  memory." 

"  Senor,  you  speak  words.  It  is  you  who  are 
young,  who  feel  not,  who  love  not.  Do  you  think, 
then,  that  weary  old  thought  of  all  the  weary  world, 
that  age  is  measured  by  years?  Have  you,  then,  in 
all  your  life  of  freedom  and  adventure,  never,  never 
sat  you  down  and  thought,  and  discovered  in  that 
thought  that  time  is  a  lie,  that  there  is  no  time;  and 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  419 

only  the  beating  of  the  heart  and  the  birth  and  the 
death  of  its  emotions  bring  age?  Ha! — young! 
Then  is  God  young !  Sefior,  I  am  older  than  these 
rocks,  and  the  ruins  of  this  wall,  though  they  have 
seen  and  known  such  pain  and  sorrow  in  the  times 
gone  by  as  wrung  tears  out  of  stone,  yet,  looking  on 
me,  surely  must  weep  again.  You  who  scorn  me, 
would  call  me  incapable  of  remorse.  Yet  have  I  last 
night  and  to-day  burnt  with  it  till  it  was  as  though  my 
soul  staggered  and  fell,  black  ruins.  Go  away  — 
leave  me.  If  still  there  be  left  that  in  my  heart  that 
can  bleed,  let  me  bleed  alone." 

"  I  will  leave  you,"  he  said  bowed  down.  "  I  can 
say  no  more.  May  God  be  with  you.  May  God  be 
with  us  both." 

He  turned  to  go. 

"  Yes,"  murmured  she,  "  alone.  Leave  me  with 
that  which  I  must  do.  Your  way  will  be  darkened 
by  me  no  more." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  cried,  turning  back, 
frozen  with  fear. 

"  Then  you  do  not  leave  me?  Come —  Oh  I  am 
mad  !  Senor,  if  your  mind  still  is  whole,  pity  the 
wreck  of  mine!  Why — you  are  still  here?  Did 
you  not  go?  I  saw  you  last,  senor,  at  the  tower. 
Grief  has  made  me  this  poor  way.  I  would  have 
crawled  after  him.  I  think  I  did  —  I  crawled  over 
the  stones — stunned,  crying.  I  held  out  my  arms 
to  him  —  ah,  I  remember,  it  was  then  my  mind  first 
was  black." 

"  Pepa !  Pepa !  —     Oh  my  God  !  " 

"Why  —  are  you  still  here,  senor?  Will  you  not, 
then,  leave  me?  I  cannot  do  it  if  you  are  here." 

He  stooped  down  beside  her  and,  seizing  her  arms, 
bent  his  eyes  on  hers,  striving  to  call  her  to  herself. 


420  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

"  What  is  it,"  he  cried  with  a  desperate  sternness, 
"  that  you  are  going  to  do?  Listen  !  Look  at  me! 
I  compel  you  to  tell  me !  " 

"  You  are  so  fierce  with  me,"  she  moaned  plain 
tively,  like  a  child  who  is  cold.  "Yet — I  under 
stand —  gentleness  is  not  for  me,  though  I  be  very 
hungry  for  it.  Love  is  not  for  me,  though  my  heart 
die  for  it.  Senor —  please,  please  go  away —  for  th<*. 
time  is  coming.  Please,  please  go  away !  " 

At  these  mad  words  he  was  wrung  with  a  torture 
such  as  he  had  never  dreamed  possible. 

"  Oh  broken  heart !  "  he  cried.    "  What  can  I  do  !" 

"Do?"  said  she  suddenly,  after  a  moment's 
silence.  "  There  is  nothing  for  you  to  do.  Ay  de  mi! 
You  have  done  it  all.  Don  Rodrigo,  do  not  fear.  I 
am  come  to  myself  again.  I  tried  to  bear  it.  I  did 
all  I  could.  But  there  was  something  in  the  black 
ness  that  laughed  at  me  —  and  I  fought  with  it  till  it 
came  and  crushed  me.  I  can  feel  no  more.  I  knew 
when  it  came  dark  I  had  failed  at  last,  and  must  not 
live.  I  cannot.  So  I  walked  away  thinking  I  would 
come  to  the  water.  Don  Rodrigo,  I  gave  you  all, 
my  love,  my  faith.  You  were  not  able  to  give  to  me 
—  anything.  So  to  pay  me  only  a  little,  can  you 
not  do  me  this  one  favor.  Leave  me  and  let  me  do 
it.  I  cannot  go  walking  on  in  these  ruins." 

"You  shall  not,"  he  cried,  "you  dare  not!  With 
my  soul's  strength  I  forbid  and  I  shall  prevent  it. 
Kill  me  first.  I  am  here  and  I  give  you  my  arms 
and  I  pray  you  kill  me.  For  this  you  must  do  before 
you  can  kill  yourself!  Listen  to  me — " 

"The  mad  cannot  listen,  and  I  am  mad.  I  say 
it  plainly.  I  have  felt  reason  going,  was  happy  that 
I  felt  it.  Oh  senor,  to  break  one's  heart  once  is  much 
too  often ;  to  live  is  to  break  it  anew  with  every 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  421 

thought,  in  every  moment.  This  lifelong  agony  you 
would  decree  to  me.  Holy  Mother  Mary !  thou  too 
hast  gone  from  me!  What  —  only  this  man  here? 
Senor —  then  will  you  not  leave  me?  Go  away  — 
the  last  time  I  plead  with  you.  If  I  had  a  heart  I 
could  tear  it  out  and  cast  it  down  and  cry,  Take  it ; 
trample  it! — but  leave  me!  Senor,  I  have  no  heart. 
Then  for  the  deed's  sake —  please,  please  go  away !  " 

It  seemed  to  him  clear  with  a  deadly  clearness  that 
this  strange  woman's  mind  was  sinking  under  her 
grief.  He  was  filled  with  horror  and  a  self-loathing 
that  made  him  panic-stricken.  He  leaped  to  seize 
her,  crying: 

"  You  shall  not !  " 

She  was  up,  seeming  tall  and  strong.  Her  eyes, 
like  those  of  a  maniac  indeed,  glared  fire  at  him  out 
of  darkness.  That  look  for  a  second  disarmed  him. 
She  wrenched  herself  with  one  quick  effort  from  his 
grasp,  and  crying  out  crazily,  brokenly,  ran  away, 
leaping  the  stones  like  a  wild  animal.  She  was  at 
the  edge  of  the  precipitous  descent  and  he  came  on 
with  all  his  speed  and  desperation  after  her.  He 
perceived  that  she  plunged  down  over  boulders  and 
amidst  cacti.  Being  in  that  moment  at  the  edge,  he 
could  barely  see  the  black  shadow  of  her  figure  going 
on,  zigzag,  leaping,  disappearing,  rising  again,  skim 
ming  over  that  perilous  course  as  though  wings  held 
her. 

He  knew  the  descent  was  full  of  danger  even  in 
the  day,  but  he  did  not  pause.  He  went  down  after 
her,  crying  to  her.  He  sprang  from  rock  to  rock, 
wounding  himself  but  going  on.  Boulders  loomed 
before  him  and  on  every  side.  The  high  shadow  of 
the  island  itself  now  towered  behind  him.  He  was 
half-way  down  amidst  a  chaos  of  shattered  stone, 


422  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

plunging  on  where  one  false  step  would  have  been 
fatal.  Before  him  the  girl's  form  went  lightly,  swiftly, 
and  the  lake,  unseen,  beat  its  waves  under  her.  He 
saw  failure  before  him  and  the  night  for  evermore 
gashed  like  a  wound  in  his  life.  He  called  aloud 
shrieking  it : 

"  Pepa  !  Help  !  Help  !  Stop  her  in  God's  name  !  " 
He  dashed  on  blindly.  Others  had  heard  his  cry 
and  came,  some  running  along  the  shore  from  the 
tower,  others  descending  after  him.  He  was  near 
the  bottom.  He  was  leaping  to  the  last  boulder 
before  reaching  that  narrow  track  that  separated  the 
ascent  from  the  water.  He  could  just  see  her  spring 
from  the  shore  with  the  agility  of  a  panther  over 
a  wide  stretch  of  heaving  water,  to  a  rock  that  stood 
alone  in  the  lake.  She  sprang  yet  again  from  that 
to  a  second  farther  out.  She  did  not  pause.  She 
sprang  yet  a  third  time  to  the  last  boulder  far  out 
where  the  lake  was  deep.  The  spot  was  not  far  from 
the  island's  southern  end  and  the  ruined  prison  of 
tunnels  looked  down  on  the  scene  out  of  its  years  of 
gloom.  Rodrigo  was  over  the  first  stretch  of  water 
and  on  the  first  isolated  rock.  Others,  being  nearly 
all  those  few  soldiers  who  had  watched  the  island's 
southern  end,  were  running  to  her  aid  behind  him. 
He  jumped  to  the  second  rock  and  saw  her  figure 
disappear.  There  was  the  sound  of  the  fall  of  a  body 
in  the  lake.  He  came,  and  his  comrades  came,  to 
the  high  flat  summit  of  that  last  boulder.  The  water 
beat  against  it  and  surged  in  darkness  about  its  base. 
There  was  no  woman  there,  or  arm  stretched  up  out 
of  that  unspeaking  flood,  or  hair  that  floated  on  the 
waves. 

The  place  was  a  wilderness  of  water  to  the  west, 
and  a  wilderness  of  rocks  toward  the  shore — rocks 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  423 

that  cut  off  the  view  in  all  directions,  and  were  buried 
in  unfathomable  gloom,  among  which  the  billows 
played,  retreated,  advanced,  hid,  and  shattered  them 
selves.  Some  of  the  soldiers  dragged,  some  scanned 
the  shore  and  the  lake,  some  called  for  a  boat,  and  a 
fruitless  search  went  on. 


CHAPTER   X 

IT  was  not  with  bounding  hope  —  in  spite  of  a  will 
to  hope  —  that  the  prisoner  began  the  operations 
of  the  night.  It  was  rather  with  a  sense  of  coming 
disaster  that  made  his  mind  and  his  manner  sombre. 
So  soon  as  it  was  safe  and  he  had  no  other  interrup 
tion  of  guards  to  fear,  that  is,  a  little  after  eight 
o'clock,  he  cautiously  raised  the  lid  to  that  unclean 
passage. 

He  lowered  himself,  taking  his  candle  with  him, 
and  closed  the  opening.  He  traversed  again  the 
tunnel,  crawling  in  places,  gathering  earth  upon  him, 
and  seeing  the  white  evidences  of  unknown  miseries 
of  the  past  flash  out  of  cave-like  recesses  as  he  went. 
Whatever  of  agitation  the  events  of  the  preceding 
night  and  the  news  born  from  them  had  caused  him, 
there  was  none  of  it  left  to  render  him  too  hasty  or 
too  slow,  or  his  foot  or  his  mind  unsteady.  Had  one 
seen  him  as  he  pierced  that  underground  passage, 
the  candle  light  on  his  face,  it  would  have  seemed 
that  the  dreamer  had  grown  taller ;  that  his  mien  was 
one  of  a  reserve  that  meant  power;  and  that  some 
unmeasured  gloom  was  in  him  which  rendered  him 
calm. 

She  had  not  come  to  see  or  speak  to  him  —  and 
the  day  was  gone.  He  endeavored  to  blot  this  fact 
out  of  his  mind,  but  it  took  refuge  then  in  his  breast. 
Having  earlier  pondered  this,  and  all  the  circum 
stances  of  his  condition,  he  had  come  to  the  inevi- 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  425 

table  conclusion  that  in  her  lay  his  only  hope.  He 
could  rely  on  the  discretion,  as  he  could  on  the  si 
lence,  of  the  mute.  That  messenger,  ignorant  of  the 
identity  of  all  of  Vicente's  friends,  could  be  directed 
then  only  to  deliver  the  message  to  Pepa,  whom 
Vicente  believed  to  be  the  only  woman  on  the  island. 
For  her  the  mute  could  easily  detect.  There  would 
be  no  slightest  chance  of  a  mistake,  and  there  ought 
to  be  none.  He  could  not  say  to  the  mute :  "  Find  a 
giant  and  deliver  the  message  to  him."  For  the  night 
would  be  dark,  and  Vicente  recalled  that  Bonavidas 
likewise  was  a  large  man.  Hence  he  girded  up,  as 
it  were,  his  faith  in  the  girl,  and  made  his  first  deci 
sion  final. 

He  came  to  the  steps  under  the  southern  prison  and 
mounted.  Half-way  up  he  perceived  that  other  nar 
row  exit,  a  black  slit  among  boulders,  leading  down 
through  similar  blackness  to  liberty.  His  blood 
leaped  with  no  joy,  nor  did  he  tremble.  He  went  on 
up,  calmly,  and  emerged  in  the  hermit's  cell. 

The  eyes  of  that  death-stricken  aged  one  were  as 
though  they  had  been  long  staring  at  the  spot  where 
Vicente's  countenance  appeared.  The  mute  was 
seated  in  the  farthest  corner  on  the  ground,  his  hat 
pulled  down  over  his  features.  He  made  no  move. 
The  fire  leaped  once  more  into  the  hermit's  face, 
which  looked  ghastly  pale,  having  assumed  that  ex 
treme  of  emaciation  that  seems  often  to  come  sud 
denly.  He  stretched  out  his  hand  and  cried  with  a 
sickly  joy: 

"  My  son  —  you  are  come  at  last!  " 

Vicente  stood  over  him  and  looked  down  in  a  deep 
meditation.  He  passed  his  hand,  then,  once  gently 
over  the  hermit's  wasted  features. 

"  Write   it !  "   gasped  the   sick   man.     "  Write   the 


426  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRQNE 

message  and  send  him.  And  tell  me,"  clutching  at 
Vicente's  arm  in  feeble  but  thirsty  eagerness,  "  tell 
me  your  hope  and  your  energy  are  high.  Tell  me 
you  will  secure  this  night  freedom  for  all  time  and 
the  army  again  shall  be  yours !  " 

"  Father,"  replied  Vicente,  "  to  this  course  am  I 
committed.  To  this  shall  I  cling  till  the  end  come. 
There  is  nothing  else  in  the  world  for  me.  There  be 
some  not  born  for  the  world.  It  is  possible  I  am  one 
of  these;  but  let  time  answer.  The  army  will  follow 
me  again,  as  it  followed  me  once.  I  can  gather  it  up 
where  any  other  would  fail.  So,  if  there  be  truth  in 
the  vision  of  my  founding  yet  a  government  that 
shall  be  strong  and  a  power  for  good,  fear  not.  I 
shall  wring  that  truth  out  of  that  vision,  and  your 
heart,  be  the  world  or  the  grave  its  resting-place, 
shall  have  peace." 

"  It  has  it,"  gasped  the  hermit.     "  Go  —  write." 

Vicente  walked  to  the  table,  sat  down  on  the  bench, 
and  wrote  with  a  curious  leisure.  He  arose  and  went 
to  the  mute. 

"  Get  up,"  said  he. 

The  mute  obeyed  and  turned  up  a  face  wherein  the 
exultation  was  for  a  moment  visible,  but  which,  on 
the  hermit's  suddenly  crying  out,  seemed  to  stiffen. 
Vicente,  towering  over  him,  laid  his  hand  heavily  on 
the  dumb  man's  shoulder  and  held  the  other's  eyes 
with  his  own. 

"  Go  you,"  said  he  slowly,  making  the  words  clear 
and  distinct  and  weighting  them  with  command, 
"  down  to  the  lake.  Follow  the  shore  to  the  right 
and  keep  yourself  ever  hid.  Search  for  a  woman. 
If  she  is  not  there  she  may  be  in  a  boat,  wherein 
you  are  to  look  with  all  your  cunning  and  your  cau 
tion  strained  to  the  utmost.  You  are  hunting,  under- 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  427 

stand  it  well,  a  woman.  There  is  but  one  here. 
Search,  man,  till  you  find  her,  if  you  must  upturn 
every  rock  on  this  barren  isle.  And  you  are  to  let 
no  other  see  you.  When  she  is  found  you  are  to 
give  her  this  in  secret.  That  is  all." 

The  mute  took  the  paper  and  instinctively  turned 
toward  his  master,  whose  eyes  had  been  blazing 
through  the  writing  of  the  letter  and  the  delivery  of 
the  command,  and  whose  weak  old  body,  even  weaker 
than  on  the  previous  night,  was  again  half  raising 
itself. 

"  Go !  "  cried  the  hermit,  his  voice  husky  and 
breaking.  "  I  am  weak  of  body,  but  my  mind  is 
your  master  still,  you  who  taunted  me  in  that  old 
time.  And  my  mind  shall  follow  you  this  night,  for 
on  this  mission  have  I  set  my  spirit.  My  weakness 
left  you  free  two  whole  days,  and  that  freedom  starved 
me  so  that  I  now  die ;  but,  liar  in  your  soul,  I  won 
you  back  and  you  are  mine  still.  And  if  on  this  night 
of  my  great  hope,  you  dare  to  think  —  ay,  so  much 
as  think  freedom,  I  will  crush  you  down  on  that  very 
spot  where  the  thought  is  born.  Go  on —  I  will  fol 
low -I— I—" 

A  fit  of  coughing  that  seemed  to  rend  his  body, 
suddenly  attacked  him,  so  that  his  weakness  appeared 
incapable  of  enduring  more  and  his  form,  now  seated, 
swayed  and  rocked.  Vicente  seized  and  held  him. 
As  the  coughing  abated  and  the  old  man  gasped  and 
groped  with  his  lean  hands,  that  evident  and  striking 
failure  of  his  last  strength  bore  its  fruit  in  the  mind 
of  the  slave.  The  dumb  one,  looking  on  first  in 
terror,  then  with  a  deep  and  infernal  cunning,  let  his 
face  show  plainly,  daringly,  for  the  first  time,  his  joy 
at  his  master's  coming  dissolution,  his  defiance,  his 
savage  sense  of  freedom  as  the  master's  mind  sank 


423  A    DREAM    OF  A    THRONE 

toward  death.  All  those  emotions  came  out  on  his 
revolting  features  and,  as  it  were,  stood  there  and 
smiled  or  glared. 

The  hermit  saw  them  and  the  fact  of  his  now,  on 
the  grave's  brink,  failing  in  his  long  work,  seeing  the 
crushed  rise  up,  swept  in  on  him.  It  produced  an 
effect  as  appalling  as  it  was  sudden.  Despair  turned 
to  rage  so  great  that  it  burst  all  bounds.  He  wrenched 
himself  from  Vicente's  grasp  and  tottered  up.  He 
was  convulsed  and  torn  with  that  mighty  anger.  He 
stood  for  one  second  tall  and  lean  and  trembling, 
glaring  at  the  crouching  figure  before  him.  Some 
mad  emperor,  in  blasting  wrath  about  to  trample  his 
people,  would  have  looked  thus  and  not  more  dread 
ful.  He  staggered  forward,  with  clenched  fist  and 
flaming  eyes,  a  demon  withering  the  human  form 
that  dared  not  escape.  The  effort  was  the  hermit's 
last.  Its  force  consumed  in  one  instant  the  vitality 
that  might  have  lasted  him  for  hours.  Vicente, 
awed  by  that  spectacle,  had  not  time  again  to  seize 
him  before  his  tall  and  emaciated  body  collapsed.  It 
fell  with  complete  and  final  ruin,  barely  arrested  in  its 
fall  by  the  arms  of  the  son  who  leaped  to  sustain  it. 

Its  despair  and  its  rage  alike  were  dead  —  as  were 
its  memories  and  its  hopes.  Its  powers  of  spirit  and 
of  mind  were  gone.  Yet,  not  absolutely.  For  the 
force  of  that  wrath  bent  the  mute  once  more  into  a 
subjection  which,  for  a  space  yet  after  his  master's 
doom,  would  live;  and  in  that  last  subjection,  even  as 
the  master  fell,  the  slave  slunk  away  down  the  stairs 
into  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  on  his  mission. 

Vicente,  even  now  not  thrown  into  excitement,  but 
weighed  with  a  grief  he  had  not  anticipated,  gathered 
up  the  form,  a  strangely  light  form,  and  placed  it 
on  the  couch.  He  sought  stimulants  and  adminis- 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  429 

tered  them.  He  chafed  the  body.  He  worked  long 
and  rapidly  —  to  no  purpose.  He  brought  the 
candle  then  and  looked,  haunted,  for  many  long  min 
utes  into  the  face.  Behind  those  features  had  lived 
his  own  source  of  being  and  his  destiny.  The  eyes 
he  ngw  closed  had  held  that  power  that  bent  men, 
and  won  his  mother's  wayward  heart — and  failed 
of  all  good.  The  face  was  grown  calm.  It  was 
absolutely  white,  and  in  its  lineaments  and  its 
whiteness  Vicente  saw  himself  and  knew  his  life  as 
he  had  never  known  it  before.  His  brain  swam  with 
memories.  The  shadows  of  the  cell  were  the  figures 
that  acted  out  his  father's  tragedy.  The  future  to 
him  was  only  some  strong,  sad  force  that  led  him 
on,  him,  the  helpless,  the  fated,  to  an  untimely  end. 
He  sank  to  his  knees  and  wept,  but  without  tears. 
It  was  then  that  the  mute  returned  and  the  prisoner 
remembered  his  promised  liberty.  He  arose  and 
bent  his  eyes  on  the  messenger  who  had  crept  in 
more  awed  by  that  last  effort  of  his  master's  mind 
than  Vicente  had  ever  seen  him. 

"Have  you  succeeded?"  demanded  the  latter. 

The  other  signed  yes. 

"Did  you  give  it  to  a  woman,  and  in  secrecy?" 

Yes. 

"  Then  come.     We  will  wait  below." 

Vicente  took  up  the  candle.  The  mute  had  cast  a 
glance  at  the  couch.  He  had  looked  away  as 
though  he  dared  not  glance  again.  Then,  a  second 
time,  he  had  cast  his  eyes  thither.  He  was  like 
a  dog  that  scents  a  dead  body  and  is  fascinated, 
yet  repelled  ;  drawn,  yet  terrified  ;  half  approaching, 
yet  slinking  away;  the  knowledge  of  dread  full  on 
him,  yet  deep  under  it  the  animal  instinct  to  come 
on  and  rend. 


430  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

Vicente,  turning  with  the  candle  perceived  that 
canine  glare.  He  walked  to  the  couch  and  did  the 
last  small  offices  of  arranging  the  hands  and  the 
blankets.  He  stood  yet  another  moment  and  looked 
for  the  last  time  at  the  face. 

"Come,"  said  he,  and  turned,  walking  toward  the 
exit.  "  We  will  go.  This  shall  be  his  tomb." 

He  began  the  descent  and  the  mute  followed,  leav 
ing  the  dead  man  there  buried,  he  of  power  and  of 
failure,  of  great  love  and  greater  sin. 

They  left  the  stairs  at  their  middle  and  entered  the 
fissure  between  boulders.  The  descent  was  without 
steps  and  steep,  and  the  passage  as  narrow  as  low. 
Vicente  himself  would  lead,  though  he  did  not  know 
this  tunnel.  It  was  cut  irregularly  through  earth, 
swerving  aside  frequently  to  avoid  the  rocks.  It  went 
ever  down  so  that  all  the  height  of  the  island  was 
speedily  left  above.  They  emerged  at  last  from  the 
black  hole  of  the  exit.  That  hole  was  so  small  they 
must  crawl  through.  On  one  side  of  it,  without,  and 
extending  some  distance  in  front  of  it,  stood  one  of 
the  many  boulders  that  line  this  shore.  On  the 
other  side,  and  extending  across  so  as  entirely  to 
hide  the  tunnel,  grew  one  of  those  clusters  of  cactus 
that  towered  and  spread  and  straggled  in  many  direc 
tions.  Between  the  cactus  and  the  irregular  wall  of 
the  precipice  was  left  a  narrow  passage  leading  round 
the  island's  shore  under  the  bluff.  Following  this 
path  over  stones  and  among  other  cacti  with  the 
island's  wall  on  the  right  and  the  lake  on  the  left, 
one  could  come  at  length  to  the  bay  and  the  tower, 
having  passed  on  the  way  the  spot  where  Mendez 
met  Clarita,  as  also  the  spot  where,  a  little  later, 
Rodrigo  and  his  men  looked  for  the  body  of  Josefa 
Aranja. 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  431 

There  was  also  room  left  or  rather  cut  by  the 
mute,  between  the  cactus  that  hid  the  tunnel  and 
the  boulder  on  the  left  —  a  path  so  hewn  through  the 
prickly  plant  that  masses  of  that  plant  still  extended 
beyond  the  boulder's  edge,  leaving  the  tunnel's 
mouth  invisible  from  the  lake.  The  spot  had  evi 
dently  been  selected  with  much  cunning,  there  having 
been  no  haste  and  little  cause  for  secrecy  in  the  hol 
lowing  out  of  that  unsuspected  way. 

Vicente,  halting  the  other,  passed  thus  between 
those  wing-like  concealments  of  boulder  and  cactus 
and  emerged  with  caution  at  the  shore.  The  lake 
beat  up  but  a  few  yards  lower  than  the  passage's  exit 
and  some  ten  yards  distant  from  the  island's  abrupt 
wall.  There  was  a  small  cove  there  which  rocks 
left  somewhat  of  a  harbor.  Waves  coming  from  the 
southeast  could  beat  straight  into  it.  But  those 
from  the  southwest,  or  any  other  direction,  were 
halted  by  the  line  of  rock.  As  the  wind  came  on 
this  night  from  the  southwest  (indeed  it  does  so  on 
the  majority  of  nights  during  the  dry  season)  the 
cove  was  left  comparatively  calm.  He  perceived  a 
boat  could  be  brought  without  danger  very  near  the 
shore.  Having  learned  the  ground  he  crept  back 
to  the  tunnel's  mouth.  The  mute  was  ordered  to 
remain  concealed  and  in  no  wise  to  meddle  in  aught 
that  should  occur.  Vicente  sat  down  in  hiding  and, 
without  suspense  but  in  gloom,  awaited  the  hour. 

There  was  being  borne  in  on  his  consciousness  at 
length  some  faint  hint  of  a  moving  shadow,  barely 
other  than  the  night's  own  shadows,  yonder  due 
south  on  the  face  of  the  water.  It  wavered  and  rose 
and  fell,  was  large  and  then  suddenly  small,  as 
though  a  cloud  glided  over  the  waves  or  some  spirit 
walked  there.  He  did  not  know  whether  his  imagi- 


432  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

nation,  rendered  too  alert  by  the  strain  of  the  night, 
called  up  this  unreality,  or  whether  the  shadow  were 
a  thing  real.  He  was  straining  his  eyes  to  that 
otherwise  blank  south  and  hearing  the  waves  beat 
up,  when  another  sound  broke  on  his  ears  —  the  soft 
plash,  plash,  of  a  pole  near  the  shore. 

A  moment  more  and  the  great  hulk  of  Fortino's 
canoa  appeared  indistinctly,  shrouded  in  gloom,  to 
his  right.  It  was  cutting  the  billows,  indeed  stagger 
ing  somewhat  among  them,  as,  unsteadily  propelled 
by  that  one  strong  man,  it  hugged  the  rocks  and 
rounded,  in  imminent  danger  of  wrecking  itself,  the 
last  of  the  boulders.  It  wavered  and  sank  and  rose 
before  him  who  saw  his  freedom  come  thus  shadow- 
like  out  of  shadows.  It  turned  slightly,  and  turned 
back,  wheeling  irregularly,  refusing  to  enter  the 
place  of  calm.  Fortino  himself  could  be  now  indis 
tinctly  descried  high  up  on  the  side  near  the  stern, 
his  body  bent  far  back  as  he  strained  on  the  pole 
putting  forth  a  supreme  effort.  He  conquered  the 
waves ;  the  canoa  came  into  the  tiny  gulf  and  felt  the 
heaving  water  grow  quiet  under  her  flat  bottom. 

She  rode  in  absolute  silence  nearly  to  the  shore, 
struck  without  noise  on  sand,  and  stood,  her  pointed 
prow  high  and  black  and  sharp.  For  the  first  time 
tingling  eagerness  was  born  in  Vicente.  He  was  ready 
to  seize  that  second  and  be  gone,  swallowed  up  in  the 
lake's  night.  He  turned  to  draw  the  mute  from  his 
concealment,  not  forgetting  that  creature  whom  he 
pitied.  The  creature  was  not  there.  The  prisoner 
dared  waste  a  fraction  of  the  precious  minute  to 
search  the  hiding-place;  the  dumb  one  was  not  found. 
Vicente  ran  to  the  passage's  mouth  and  a  little  way 
up.  Neither  was  he  there.  Time  was  too  priceless. 
There  could  be  no  more  delay.  It  was  unlikely  the 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  433 

mute,  if  later  found  by  the  soldiers,  would  be  severely 
dealt  with.  He  was  left  to  his  fate  —  unfathomable 
product  of  crime  and  sorrow  clinging  to  captivity. 
Vicente  crept  to  the  shore  and  was  at  the  vessel's 
prow,  raising  his  hands  to  draw  himself  in.  It  was 
then  that  a  girl's  form  leaped  out  and  was  beside 
him. 

"  Pepa !  "  he  whispered,  bewildered  by  this  move 
ment. 

She  was  closer  to  him.  She  seized  him  round  the 
neck  with  both  her  arms.  He  saw  and  felt  that  she 
was  littler  than  Pepa,  and  he  knew  the  quick  smoth 
ered  sobs.  He  was  dazed.  He  seized  her  and  pressed 
her  to  him  in  the  secret  darkness. 

"  Clarita  !  Come  —  there  is  not  one  moment  to 
lose.  I  will  lift  you  back  in  the  boat  —  help  me ! 
What  is  it !  " 

She  was  pulling  back. 

"  Go  on  !  "  whispered  she,  pushing  him  frantically 
to  the  vessel,  from  which  he  had  a  step  withdrawn. 
"  You  are  free.  I  have  helped  you.  This  is  enough 
for  me.  I  cannot  —  at  last,  Vicente,  I  cannot  go.  I 
am  safe !  " 

"What  do  you  mean?"  cried  he,  feeling  failure 
close  on  his  track.  He  dragged  her  after  him,  but 
she  tore  away.  She  put  her  face  close  to  his  and 
whispered,  impassioned : 

"  Rodrigo  has  been  good  to  me.  You  are  safe. 
Kiss  me !  I  shall  love  you  always  —  the  change  is 
come  —  Oh !  you  understand  —  my  place  is  here. 
And  thus  I  can  get  him  to  let  you  go  !  " 

He  comprehended  that  trembling  confession,  com 
prehended  it  half  with  sorrow,  half  with  joy.  But  he 
had  faith  in  Don  Rodrigo,  most  of  all,  faith  in  Clarita; 
and  there  was  in  him  little  of  selfishness. 

28 


434  A   DREAM   OF  A    THRONE 

"  Then  good-by !  "  whispered  he,  pressing  her  to 
his  breast.  "  God  be  with  you  !  " 

She  crept  away  and  he  leaped  up  to  the  boat's 
prow.  The  figure  of  another  girl,  running  along  the 
shore  out  of  the  darkness,  swept  past  the  spot  where 
Clarita  drew  aside  invisible.  That  other  slipped  in 
between  cactus  and  rock.  She  was  panting  barely 
audibly.  She  sprang  out  to  the  water's  edge  at  the 
cove  where  Vicente,  bewildered,  was  entering  the  ves 
sel  over  the  prow  and  Fortino  at  the  rear  still  strained 
on  the  pole.  Her  clothing  was  soaked  and  clung 
to  her  strong  young  body,  pouring  water  in  a  score 
of  little  streams  to  the  earth,  having,  indeed,  dashed 
spray  from  her  flying  person  all  the  way  as  she  came 
along  that  hidden  path  under  the  island's  bluffs. 
Vicente  was  once  more  astounded  to  see  that  wet 
figure  coming  in  after  him  and  feel  the  dripping  arm 
brush  his  face. 

With  a  last  glance,  half  fearful,  half  exultant, 
Clarita  perceived  the  boat  begin  to  move.  The 
night  was  yet  as  silent  as  the  prisons,  save  for  the 
lonely  sound  of  waves.  She  did  not  see  that  other 
spirit-like  bulk  of  gloom  that  had  stalked  yonder 
from  the  south.  To  her  the  change  had  come  at 
last,  and  with  it  tears.  For  the  first  time  in  all  her 
life  she  would  not  follow  him.  Not  again  would  she 
walk  through  the  dark  night  to  find  him,  or  cross  the 
stormy  lake  unbidden  to  be  where  he  was. 

She  waited  to  see  no  more.  She  ran  swiftly  round 
the  island's  end  to  its  western  side,  and  traversing  in 
a  kind  of  panic  the  course  the  dripping  Pepa  had 
traversed,  came  to  the  rocks  that  had  hidden  the 
swimmer.  She  ran  almost  fully  into  the  arms  of 
the  remorse-crazed  Rodrigo,  who,  having  failed  at 
the  point  of  the  leap,  was  running  here,  scanning  the 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  435 

shore.  It  swept  over  Clarita  that  this  haste  meant 
pursuit  of  her  brother,  at  least  suspicion,  that  the 
secret  would  out,  that  on  her  alone  depended  the 
safety  of  the  fugitive.  She  hesitated  not  one  moment. 
That  latent  spirit  of  deeds  came  up.  Rodrigo  had 
declared  his  love  —  her  brother  was  free.  She  loved 
this  man  with  her  whole  heart;  she  knew  it  now  in 
the  moment  of  her  anxiety.  Her  modest  timidity 
went  down  in  the  storm.  She,  the  gentle,  was  sud 
denly  as  wild,  as  bold,  as  ever  had  been  Pepa  in  her 
freest  times. 

She  cried  out  as  he  would  have  passed  her: 

"  Rodrigo  !     Rodrigo  !  " 

She  cried  it  passionately.  He  turned,  and  she, 
blocking  his  way,  stretched  out  her  arms  and  he 
caught  her.  She  held  him  in  the  embrace  of  des 
peration.  She  wept  and  called  his  name ;  she  threw 
back  her  face,  which,  thinking  that  some  great  trouble 
had  come  to  her,  he  kissed,  beseeching  her  to  tell  him. 

"  I  can  bear  it  no  more  !  "  cried  she.  "  You  love 
me  —  you  said  you  loved  me  !  " 

"  With  all  my  life  !  " 

"  Then  take  me  !     Take  me  !  " 

Doubtless  in  the  paroxysm  of  emotion  that,  like  a 
maelstrom,  had  suddenly  seized  her,  confession  of  it 
self  would  have  broken  out.  She  was  swept  away  in 
the  bursting  storm  of  that  which  her  secret  heart  had 
longed  to  utter.  The  stratagem  was  but  the  hun 
dredth  part  of  the  moment's  deed.  It  was  merely 
that  it  could  fall  in  with  the  storm.  Curiously  did 
stratagem  and  reality  flow  on  together,  the  last  sweep 
ing  in  the  first.  Ah  !  thou  timid  one,  thus  thy  great 
love  made  thee,  too,  that  unusual  deceiver,  with  that 
unusual  and  sweet  deceit  that  was  truer  than  truth. 

There  came  then,  ringing  through  the   night,  the 


436  A   DREAM   OF  A    THRONE 

distant  cry  of  a  man's  voice,  "  Help  !  Help !  He  is 
escaping !  "  and  the  report  of  a  pistol. 

She  had  detained  Rodrigo  one  invaluable  minute; 
even  she  could  detain  him  no  more.  He  listened, 
startled  ;  then  broke  away  from  her. 

The  canoa  bearing  the  fugitives  had  begun  its 
silent  gliding  out  as  Clarita  had  run  away.  It  was 
but  a  few  feet  from  the  shore  when  the  waves  caught 
its  stern,  whirled  it,  in  spite  of  all  Fortino's  strength, 
sidewise,  and,  for  a  moment,  hung  it  motionless  on 
the  rocks.  The  giant  ground  out  between  his  teeth 
such  oaths  as  the  night  must  have  shuddered  at,  and 
Vicente,  seeing  that  his  life  hung  on  every  second, 
was  high  up  beside  him,  his  slender  figure,  too, 
straining  with  all  its  power  on  the  pole.  It  was  then 
that  they  heard  the  cry  and  the  pistol,  whose  ball 
struck  the  water  under  them.  There  were  no  other 
boats  at  the  island.  Escape  was  yet  possible. 

When  Rodrigo  had  called  his  men  to  the  pursuit 
of  Pepa,  Bonavidas,  on  the  island's  extreme  southern 
point,  had  not  heard  the  call.  Seated  under  the 
prison's  wall  he  was  watching  that  shadow  yonder 
in  the  south.  The  sound  of  the  grating  of  Fortino's 
vessel  came  suddenly  to  him.  He  crept  half-way 
down  the  precipitous  descent  and  the  scarcely  seen 
movement  below  aroused  his  fears.  He  cried  out 
and  fired  to  determine  his  course  and  raise  the  alarm, 
not  aiming  at  the  vessel.  His  fears  were  confirmed 
by  the  struggle  beneath  and,  with  a  devilish  zest, 
the  wily  lieutenant  plunged  into  the  danger.  When 
nearly  to  the  shore  he  hung  from  a  rocky  ledge  and 
dropped.  Then  he  leaped  at  the  boat,  crying  aloud. 
He  had  seen  one  huge  and  one  tall  figure  high  up 
against  the  stars  on  the  struggling  vessel.  But  he, 
too,  had  been  seen. 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  437 

His  descent,  since  the  alarm,  had  taken  but  the 
eighth  of  a  minute.  It  took  that  frantic  giant  but 
two  seconds  to  intrust  the  pole  to  Vicente  and  the 
girl  and  spring  from  boat  to  water,  from  water  to 
land.  On  the  edge  of  the  shore  he  met  the  charging 
lieutenant.  Fortino's  only  thought,  mad  and  blind 
as  he  was,  seeing  his  great  hope  threatened,  was  to 
crush  this  howling  demon.  He  sprang  on  his  as 
tounded  enemy  before  that  enemy  could  raise  his 
weapon.  They  were  locked  in  a  deadly  embrace. 
Bonavidas's  long  and  powerful  arms  entwined  that 
great  bulk  and  wrenched  fruitlessly.  The  giant's 
muscles  were  in  sudden  and  irresistible  play  and 
with  a  dull,  sickening  crack  the  body  of  Bonavidas  was 
crushed  against  his  iron  breast.  The  time  occupied 
in  this  silent  contest  was  infinitesimal.  The  disease 
that  had  secretly  gnawed  the  lieutenant's  strength  then 
showed  its  works.  It  was  as  though  the  lungs  were, 
by  that  bear-like  grip,  mangled.  Floods  of  clotted 
blood  burst  from  the  victim's  mouth,  and  he  fell, 
blood  running  still  on  the  sand, —  and  lay  dead. 

Cursing  in  his  throat  gutturally,  the  giant,  now 
inflamed  with  fury,  ran  through  water  straight  at  the 
boat,  and  hurled  his  form  against  its  stern.  It  was 
like  striking  it  with  a  boulder.  It  scraped  and  swung 
free  and  circled  out  amidst  greater  waves,  Fortino 
clambering,  as  it  went,  over  its  side.  They  were 
dashed  by  billows  fifty  feet  into  the  lake ;  they  heard 
shouts  and  running  feet  upon  the  shore. 

"  With  all  your  strength  !  "  cried  Vicente ;  and  the 
wind  caught  his  voice  and  made  a  hideous  clangor 
of  the  words. 

The  two  swung  on  the  pole,  Pepa  crouching  under 
them  straining  at  the  rudder,  striving  to  guide  the 
vessel  straight  out. 


438  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

"  Up  with  the  sail !  "  cried  Vicente. 

Fortino  loosed  the  pole  and  the  vessel  tilted  and 
swayed.  It  was  then  that  bullets  began  spattering 
the  water  and  they  heard  Rodrigo's  voice  crying 
orders  on  the  shore.  The  sail,  hoisted  by  Fortino's 
great  arm,  its  ropes  seized  by  Vicente,  went  flutter 
ing  up,  caught  the  wind  with  a  dull  report,  and 
dragged,  bulging,  at  its  mast.  The  flight  under  the 
white  square  began,  round  the  island's  eastern  side 
twenty  yards  from  shore,  toward  the  spot  where  lay 
Ocotlan,  the  wind  directly  in  the  stern. 

Exultation  was  suddenly  turned  to  horror.  The 
thing  that  had  been  the  spot  of  white  and  red  in  the 
long  afternoon,  had  been,  too,  that  ghost-like  bulk 
that  strode  in  darkness  from  the  south.  The  three 
fugitives,  crowded  together  in  the  stern,  crouching 
to  avoid  the  bullets  that  now  went  wild,  bending 
every  effort  to  the  management  of  sail  and  rudder, 
beheld  then  a  second  expanse,  looming  out  of  the 
southern  darkness,  towering  over  them,  bearing 
straight  down  across  their  bows.  They  cried  and 
shrieked  in  vain.  That  silent  enemy  sailed  on.  They 
came,  in  spite  of  all  effort,  in  front  of  its  prow.  It 
was  as  though  the  white  sail  became  a  dazzling 
sheet  to  wind  them  in  and  cast  them  down.  The 
prow  of  that  new  enemy,  bursting  in  on  the  moment 
of  success,  crashed  against  their  vessel's  side. 

The  phantom  bore  with  it  Doroteo  Quiroz.  He 
had  heard  the  cry  and  knew  who  alone  could  be 
escaping.  He  had  been  still  in  his  desperate  mood ; 
and  the  escape  of  him  for  whose  capture  he  had 
risked  all,  frenzied  him.  Let  not  that  skeleton  arise 
out  of  the  tomb  to  goad  him.  Thinking  this,  he  had 
heard  Vicente's  voice  and  seen  the  vessel  rolling  out 
on  to  the  lake's  bosom.  He  had  borne  down  on  it 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  439 

Coming  very  near  he  had  heard  yet  another  voice, 
a  voice  that  seemed  to  make  every  drop  of  blood  in 
his  body  stand  still.  It  was  Pepa's.  She,  too,  was 
escaping  and  with  the  very  man  they  had  pawned 
their  souls  together  to  destroy.  Burning  thoughts  of 
treachery  burst  in  his  mind.  It  seemed  then  every 
thing  he  touched  fell  in  ruins.  Crazed  by  that  last 
voice,  he  hesitated  not.  He  crashed  straight  into 
the  traitor's  ship,  heedless  of  danger  or  death. 

His  vessel  was  the  "  Goddess  Venus  "  manned  by 
three  of  his  own  sailors.  She  had  no  iron  on  her, 
and  she  struck  her  opponent  at  a  spot  of  the  latter's 
side  most  firmly  braced  by  heavy  cross  timbers.  So 
she  did  not  pierce  her.  The  two  canoas  shook  and 
tottered,  but  remained  whole.  Quiroz  sprang  to  the 
prow  and  hurled  his  anchor  into  the  other  vessel. 
While  the  fugitives  struggled  to  prevent  that  disastrous 
union,  Quiroz  called  his  willing  servants  to  his  aid, 
seized  the  chain,  and  the  vessels  were  drawn  -together. 
They  wrapped  the  chain's  superfluous  coils  round 
a  staying  timber,  so  that  those  two  small  and  tossing 
ships  were  lashed  like  galleys  of  old. 

Vicente  was  not  armed.  All  weapons  had  been 
removed  from  him  on  his  capture.  He  had  stood 
at  the  point  of  conjunction  ready  to  sell  his  freedom 
with  his  life,  infuriated  for  once  by  the  presence  of 
this  fiend  of  treachery.  The  girl,  at  the  sound  of 
Quiroz's  voice,  lost  her  daring  for  the  first  time 
before  any  save  Rodrigo.  She  slunk  into  the  boat's 
farthest  corner  and  looked  on,  no  party  in  the  fight. 
Vicente's  was  the  coolest  mind  of  the  three.  It 
would  have  been  better  had  Fortino's  been  cooler. 
The  moment  the  anchor  caught  the  ship  the  former 
sprang  to  cast  it  loose.  Fortino,  a  maniacal  purpose 
born  in  him,  strangely  prevented  that  separation. 


440  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

But  what  reasoning,  what  earthly  force,  could  stop 
the  dread  hurricane  of  that  great  man's  passion 
when,  in  a  fury  that  no  words  can  describe,  he  real 
ized  that  this,  his  last  struggle  with  his  destiny,  was 
failing  because  of  that  same  wretch  who  had  brought 
about  his  miseries.  He  cried  out  with  so  fierce  and 
so  deafening  a  cry  that  it  was  as  though  some  king 
of  the  forests,  leaping  on  his  prey,  roared  in  him. 
He  hurled  himself  across  the  chasm  between  the  two 
prows.  He  launched  that  vast  weight  of  his  straight 
at  his  enemy  —  all  thoughts,  all  purposes,  all  hopes, 
dead,  save  just  this  one,  to  crush  the  vile  soul  out 
of  its  viler  body. 

He  seized  Quiroz  in  a  grip  of  iron.  He  called 
forth  the  sum  of  his  powers.  He  was  a  demon  from 
the  fiery  pit.  If  breath  of  man  could  blast  man 
Quiroz  must  have  shrivelled  before  that  hot  exhala 
tion  of  supreme  hate.  The  traitor  felt  his  body 
pressed  till  it  seemed  the  crushing  arms  must  cut 
him  through.  His  ribs  seemed  cracking  and  the 
blood  felt  as  though  it  burst  from  his  veins  and 
flooded  him.  He  would  doubtless  have  gone  the 
way  of  Bonavidas  had  not  his  three  sailors,  them 
selves  strong  men,  been  there  to  help  him.  They 
were  with  one  accord  on  Fortino.  One  seized  a 
club  from  the  boat's  bottom  and  beat  the  giant's 
defenceless  head  unmercifully.  The  attack  of  the 
others  was  not  less  fierce.  The  boat  was  rocking 
under  them  and  the  other  dragging  at  its  chain,  and 
the  two  sails,  left  unguarded,  surged  and  flapped  as 
the  canoas  wheeled  contrary  to  wind.  The  fight 
lasted  scarce  time  for  Vicente  to  perceive  its  nature. 
He,  too,  was  on  the  point  of  springing  across  and 
adding  his  despairing  strength  to  that  of  Fortino, 
when  he  was  pushed  back  from  the  spot  where,  for 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  441 

an  instant,  he  was  poised  on  the  boat's  side.  His 
assailant  was  one  of  the  sailors,  who,  knocking  Vi 
cente  backward  into  the  vessel,  jumped  in  after  him. 

The  struggle  with  Fortino  was  done.  It  is  likely  that 
even  four  men  would  not  have  proved  too  many  for 
his  towering  strength,  had  not  an  unforeseen  circum 
stance  aided  them.  He  had  grown,  in  the  contest, 
even  more  crazed  than  before.  In  the  grasp  of  his 
three  assailants  and  still  holding  Quiroz,  he  had  lunged 
and  tottered.  The  mass  of  men  had  crashed  into  the 
thatch,  torn  that  light  roofing  from  the  sides,  and 
shattered  it.  Even  the  mast  itself  was  all  but  cracked. 
The  sail  then  united  its  efforts  with  those  of  Fortino's 
enemies  and  caused,  with  their  strength,  his  failure. 
The  wheeling  of  the  vessel  had  left  the  canvas  empty 
of  wind.  It  sank,  flat  and  flapping,  and  wound  the 
plunging  giant  in  its  folds.  He  knew  not  what  he 
did.  He  loosed  one  arm  for  a  moment  from  Quiroz, 
to  tear  the  cursed  thing  down.  It  confused  and 
hampered  him.  Its  sagging  end,  the  rope  un 
guarded,  tangled  his  feet  That  loosing  of  the  arm 
was  fatal  to  success.  Quiroz,  with  the  others'  aid, 
jerked  himself  loose.  With  a  dexterous  twist  the 
canvas  was  more  thoroughly  wound  about  the  frantic 
combatant. 

It  was  then  the  unarmed  Vicente  was  hurled  back. 
Quiroz  and  the  two  other  sailors  left  Fortino,  who  for 
an  instant  could  not  free  or  collect  himself.  They 
sprang  into  the  other  vessel.  Vicente  was  in  the 
midst  of  the  most  desperate  fight  of  his  life  with  the 
first  of  Quiroz' s  servants.  The  two  following  ones 
joined  it,  overpowering  the  dreamer.  Quiroz,  losing 
not  a  second,  at  once  on  entering  that  vessel  and 
before  Fortino  could  come  storming  to  the  prow, 
cast  away  the  anchor  that  bound  the  two  canoas. 


442  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

They  staggered  again  at  this  release,  and  swung 
apart.  Fortino  was  charging  over  cross-timbers, 
having  freed  himself.  He  was  an  instant  too  late. 
He  was  baffled  so  ignominiously  that  the  last  of  his 
heart  and  its  courage  were  wrecked.  He  saw  the 
other  canoa,  containing  Quiroz  and  his  three  assist 
ants,  Vicente  and  the  girl,  tossing  yonder,  himself 
here  alone  in  Doroteo's  vessel,  and  an  impassable 
gulf  of  black  and  heaving  waves  between.  He  sank 
down  in  despair. 

The  other  canoa  was  at  once  righted  by  Quiroz 
and  his  men,  and  headed  to  the  shore.  Vicente, 
overwhelmed  by  numbers,  though  having  fought 
with  unflinching  bravery,  was  pinioned  in  the  prow. 
The  sail,  bulging  again,  hid  the  stern  from  him. 
High  in  that  stern  sat  Quiroz,  grown  calm  and  steely. 
He  stared  at  the  girl.  She  crept  up  to  him,  kitten- 
like,  and,  resting  against  him,  put  up  her  face. 

"  Did  you  think  I  was  leaving  you  ? "  whispered 
she,  bringing  her  lips  close,  close.  "  I  was  only  get 
ting  away,  the  sooner  to  come  to  you  !  " 

He  tried  to  read  her  face. 

"  Pepa,  are  you  telling  me  the  truth?"  said  he 
between  his  teeth. 

"  I  would  not  lie  to  you,"  she  replied  plaintively, 
bringing  her  lips  still  closer,  so  that  he  felt  her  breath 
on  his  face.  "  Doroteo,  I  would  not  lie  to  you  to 
save  my  poor  soul." 

"  Then  you  are  mine  at  last !  "  cried  he,  holding 
her  an  instant  with  passion.  She  crept  away  and 
crouched  under  the  thatch. 

The  shore  was  at  once  neared  and  the  vessel 
anchored,  yet  not  so  close  that  those  soldiers  who 
came  running  there  could  detect  the  identity  of  its 
occupants. 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  443 

"  Deliver  him  to  the  jefe"  whispered  Quiroz  to 
his  men,  "  and  say  not  a  word,  but  return  here." 

So  the  ill-fated  prisoner  was  given  over  once  again 
to  that  chief  of  police  in  whom  the  escape  had 
caused  a  relief  as  great  as  transient.  The  three 
sailors  returned  to  the  canoa,  answering  no  queries. 
That  vessel,  containing  still  the  girl  and  Quiroz,  was 
poled  out  free  of  rocks,  the  sail  was  raised,  and  the 
journey  was  continued.  Its  master  wished  to  return 
to  Tizapan,  but  this  the  wind  would  not  permit  him 
to  do.  He  would  not  remain  on  that  island.  He 
hated  every  man  on  it;  he  had  obtained  what  he 
sought.  He  would  sail  for  the  opposite  shore  and 
return  to  his  native  town  when  the  wind  should 
change.  So  that  square  of  canvas  that  had  been  the 
white  spot  and  the  red,  and  the  spirit-like  shadow 
from  the  south,  went  away  to  the  north  and 
disappeared. 

The  despair  of  Fortino  was  infinite.  For  a  full 
hour  his  vessel,  he  the  lonely  occupant,  tossed  at  the 
will  of  the  waves.  The  sail  caught  the  wind  and 
dashed  the  boat  about,  that  it  was  nigh  to  sinking. 
It  lost  the  wind  and  fell  and  flapped  in  laxity.  The 
prow  now  cut  the  advancing  waves,  now  turned  and 
ran  from  them.  The  waters  flowed  dark  and  deep, 
and  he  knew  death  lay  under  them.  He  dreamed  a 
long  bitter  dream  of  Ocotlan,  Tizapan,  and  the  Island. 
He  was  haunted  by  ghosts  and  ridden  by  black  mor 
bidness.  The  sky  was  a  pall  over  him,  the  lake  a 
grave  under  him,  life  blacker  than  the  grave.  He 
would  have  leaped  in  but  for  the  profound  contempt 
of  self  that  made  him  punish  himself  by  not  doing  so. 
The  high  rocks  of  the  island  yonder  cursed  him. 
His  own  soul  rose  up  in  revolt  and  cursed  him.  He 
died  a  hundred  deaths,  and  felt  a  hundred  other 


444  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

dooms  bring  their  weight  and  mercilessly  unload  it 
on  him. 

The  night  progressed  and  the  silence  of  the  infinite 
was  about  him.  In  every  direction  lay  the  same  un- 
pierced  gloom.  He  went  at  last  to  the  stern.  No 
more  fights,  no  more  efforts  for  him.  He  was  the 
lowest  of  the  low.  To  fish — this  was  all — merely 
to  drag  helpless,  tiny  things  out  of  water  in  a  net  — 
this  was  all  that  might  fit  the  impotent  Fortino.  He 
righted  the  sail  and  worked  the  vessel  round  till  its 
prow  pointed  as  nearly  toward  Chapala  as  the  wind 
would  allow.  The  canvas  filled  and  bulged.  The 
breeze  was  thus  not  well  in  the  stern  and  his  course 
was  slow.  He  sat  by  the  rudder  and  held  his  ship 
remorselessly  on  its  way.  Seldom,  seldom  has  a 
sailor  sailed  these  ships  alone.  He  went  on  into  the 
very  deep,  blank  middle  of  that  gloom.  He  left  the 
island.  He  could  see  no  rocks  behind,  no  shore 
before,  no  mountains  to  the  left  or  right.  Thus  empty 
was  all  time  to  him.  He  sailed  in  the  gloom,  queer 
old  Fortino,  swallowed  up  yonder  alone,  seen  no 
more,  lost  in  the  waves  and  the  night. 

At  midnight,  or  shortly  after,  the  underground 
passage  not  yet  having  been  explored  by  any  of  the 
soldiers,  there  was  struck  a  light  and  lit  a  candle 
deep  under  the  prison  of  tunnels.  The  yellow  flare 
lit  up  the  hermit's  cell,  the  stones,  the  couch,  the 
body;  also  the  revolting  visage  of  the  mute  who 
had  lighted  it.  He  had  spent  two  long  hours  of 
what  trembling,  what  terrors,  what  fearful  visions 
who  knows?  —  creeping  up  the  length  of  the  tunnel 
he  had  made,  halting  and  sitting  crouched  for  long 
minutes  in  dread,  then  creeping  again.  Coming  at 
last  into  the  cell's  absolute  darkness  he  went  with 


I 
A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  445 

stealth  and  secured  the  candle  and  the  match.  Then 
moisture,  cold,  came  out  over  his  whole  body  and 
he  sat  down  in  the  blackness.  He  bent  his  eyes 
toward  the  spot  where  stood  the  couch  and  dared 
not  move.  He  was  thus  many  minutes  more.  Then 
the  fascination  drew  him  on  and  he  lit  the  candle. 
He  crept  over  the  floor  to  the  couch.  He  stared  at 
the  calm  countenance.  He  put  out  his  hand  and 
withdrew  it.  He  put  it  out  again  and  felt  the  body. 
He  passed  his  fingers  to  the  face.  He  could  not 
believe  it.  There  was  no  power — there  was  no 
mind.  He  brought  his  own  face  closer.  He  passed 
his  finger  over  every  feature.  He  knew  the  truth. 
He  dropped  the  candle  and  it  went  out.  He  crept 
to  the  exit  and  down,  and  came  at  length  to  the 
shore.  He  went  a  little  way  along  the  water,  arriv 
ing  at  a  line  of  boulders  that  extended  into  the  lake. 
He  climbed  to  the  first  and  looked  once  back  at  the 
passage.  He  stepped  to  the  second,  the  third,  the 
fourth,  the  fifth.  He  was  far  out  with  the  billows 
round  him  and  deep  water  under  him.  He  raised 
his  arms  high  in  air.  And  he  —  he,  the  mute  — 
brokenly,  imperfectly,  the  words  made  by  but  half 
a  tongue  and  that  half  long  paralyzed  —  cried  out 
in  a  joy  diabolical : 

"  Free  !  Free  !  " 

He  leaped  and  sank,  and  was  seen  henceforth  no 
more.  It  was  thus  that  he  followed  her. 


CHAPTER  XI 

IN  the  middle  of  a  bright  and  hot  afternoon  when 
the  green  and  red  walls  of  Dona  Manuela's 
home  were  rendered  even  more  than  ordinarily 
luminous  by  the  brightest  and  hottest  of  the  sun's 
rays,  that  anxious  senora's  son,  with  Josefa  Aranja, 
entered  the  street  door  and  appeared  once  again  in 
the  tree-shaded  patio.  The  interior  of  this,  his  ances 
tral  home,  was  as  peaceful,  as  full  of  quiet  and 
shadow,  as  could  have  been  even  that  domestic  life 
for  which  the  old  lady  believed  him  by  nature  fit. 
The  footfalls  of  the  two  arrivals  woke  sharp  sounds 
from  the  brick  pavement.  The  trees  barely  stirred 
and  fell  again  into  the  afternoon's  yellow  depths  of 
sleep.  The  shattered  door  of  the  rear  patio  had 
been  removed,  and  there  was  a  lack  of  promptness 
or  of  inclination  or  of  will  in  putting  up  another, 
for  the  rear  court,  dusty  and  bare,  lay  visible.  The 
door  of  the  room  Pepa  had  occupied  stood  open, 
and  looking  in,  they  could  see  the  unseemly  hole  in 
the  outer  wall  and  through  it  catch  some  gleams  of 
the  sunlit  street. 

They  traversed  but  a  scant  half  of  the  distance  to 
the  low  roofed  corredor  before  there  was  again  the 
wonted  vision  of  the  loose  blue  dress.  Its  occu 
pant,  with  a  cry  that  may  have  been  joy,  or  only 
anxiety,  ran  out  of  the  glazed  parlor  to  meet  them. 

"  Doroteo,  my  only  son  !  "  cried  she,  falling  upon 
him.  "  Oh  !  the  bitter  hours  that  I  have  not  slept 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  447 

or  eaten  !  My  boy,  you  are  come  at  last,  and  this 
time,  oh  surely — tell  me  this  is  the  last  time  !  " 

"  Aha !  "  cried  Ouiroz,  fondling  a  stray  lock  of  her 
hair ;  "  you  are  right,  little  mother,  this  is  indeed  the 
last!" 

"  Thanks  be  to  Heaven  !  "  responded  she  fervently. 

Josefa  advanced  with  something  of  the  solemnity 
seen  in  her  at  times  before,  and  with  lines  a  little 
harder  about  her  mouth  and  a  far-away  look  in  her 
eyes.  She  kissed  Dona  Manuela  on  both  cheeks,  and 
was  at  the  same  time  on  both  cheeks  kissed  by  her, 
after  the  elaborate  Mexican  custom.  Then  the  old 
lady,  struck  with  a  sudden  thought,  turned  in  agita 
tion  to  her  son  and  whispered : 

"  Are  you  —  is  it  —  Oh,  Doroteo  !  It  is  already 
done  ?  Are  you  then  —  really  —  married,  Doroteo  ?  " 

Quiroz  laughed  a  somewhat  sibilant  laugh  and 
went  walking  with  his  old  feline  air  under  the  tiled 
roof,  where  he  sat  down  in  a  cane-and-leather 
arm-chair. 

"  Ah,  yes,  Mamacita,  ha !  ha  !  So  we  are,  with  a 
bond  of  steel.  Set  your  heart  at  rest,  Mamacita,  we 
are  married,  Josefa  and  I." 

"  And  the  good  times,"  cried  she,  clapping  her 
hands  slowly  and  doing  it,  too,  with  a  solemn  face  of 
doubt,  so  that  the  joy  of  that  clapping  of  hands  was 
hollow  and  without  merriment,  "  the  good  times 
have  come !  " 

She  was  not  able  to  talk  much  during  the  rest  of 
that  afternoon.  Her  brain  and  her  heart  were  ex 
ceedingly  full.  She  went  about  doing  many  things 
restlessly,  looking  askance  at  the  silent  Josefa  or 
following  her  son  with  fearful  eyes.  And  he  was 
himself  again,  graceful,  full  of  life  and  suppressed 
spirits.  Dona  Manuela  clung  to  the  idea  he  had 


448  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

come  at  last  to  settle  down.  She  cherished  and 
hugged  and  warmed  that  thought,  not  so  much  as 
daring,  any  more,  to  say  anything  about  it,  merely 
in  trepidation  waiting  to  see.  Later  they  ate  a 
supper  which,  save  for  Doroteo's  run  of  comments 
on  many  subjects  far  from  the  thoughts  of  all,  would 
have  been  rather  a  silent  one.  The  old  lady  tried 
once,  during  that  meal,  to  be  jocund,  and  said  a 
thing  very  full  of  merriment,  and  declared,  too,  that 
Doroteo  was  at  last,  now  fights  and  bad  influences 
being  away,  like  her  own  son,  the  son  whose  nature 
and  whose  needs  she  knew  through  and  through. 
After  that  saying  the  merriment  pined  with  curious 
rapidity  and  died. 

The  darkness  had  come  on  and  was  whispering 
among  the  trees  in  the  patio,  and  the  candles  cast 
light  out  into  the  shades  of  night.  Unusually  early 
they  all  agreed  they  were  weary,  and  retired.  Dona 
Manuela  withdrew  to  her  room,  a  great  depression 
on  her,  not  having  dared  ask  or  say  more  concerning 
the  subject  nearest  her  heart,  not  knowing  where  her 
son  had  been  to-day  and  yesterday,  whether  he  would 
remain  with  her  or  go  away  on  the  morrow.  She 
spent  the  night  before  the  crucifix. 

In  the  morning  she  found  Doroteo  busy  with 
horses.  She  was  struck  dumb  and  said  nothing,  nor 
expressed  surprise.  She  summoned  him  to  break 
fast.  He  kissed  her  with  great  gallantry  and  called 
her  Mamacita,  but  said  he  and  Pepa  had  had  break 
fast.  The  mozo  brought  two  horses  into  the  patio. 
One  of  them  bore  a  side  saddle.  Then  the  old  lady, 
standing  motionless  in  the  corredor,  her  white  face 
blank,  heard  Josefa  singing  the  snatch  of  a  tune  in 
her  room.  The  singer  came  out.  She  was  in  a  high- 
strung  mood.  Her  eyes  danced  and  the  color  came 


A   DREAM  Of  A    THRONE  449 

and  went  in  waves  on  her  face.     She  came  and  kissed 
the  old  lady  on  both  cheeks  again. 

"  Good-by  —  good-by  !  "  cried  she,  in  odd  and 
feverish  happiness. 

"  Good-by,"  whispered  Dona  Manuela. 

Doroteo  helped  the  girl  to  the  saddle  with  needless 
care.  Then  he  turned  to  his  mother. 

"  Little  mother,  God  with  you  !  Fear  not  till  Doro 
teo  comes  again.  We  will  not  leave  you  alone  for 
ever.  No,  no !  Mamacita  is  ever  in  the  memory ! 
Farewell !  "  and  he  kissed  her  and  held  his  finger 
under  her  chin,  "  till  we  come  again  to  settle 
down !  " 

He  mounted,  and  they  rode  out,  leaving  tears  run 
ning  down  Dona  Manuela's  cheeks.  When  the  door 
was  closed  she  went  in  and  stood  up  on  the  window- 
sill  from  which  Clarita  had  seen  Vicente  gallop  up 
the  street.  She  watched  them  disappear,  Doroteo 
sitting  straight  and  handsome  as  only  Doroteo  could 
be,  and  Pepa,  the  proud  Pepa,  staring  away  to  the 
front  and  the  wild  future  in  the  warring  southeast. 
It  was  then  Dona  Manuela's  doubts  of  Josefa  Aranja 
were  verified.  The  two  were  presently  gone,  leaving 
the  house  and  its  swirls  of  red  and  green  desolate, 
not  having  so  much  as  turned  to  wave  a  hand  at 
her. 

She  did  not  blame  him.  Nay,  she  forgave  him. 
How  many  times  since  the  old  sacrifice  at  Jerusalem 
has  the  cleansing  of  sins  been  thus  renewed,  the 
mother  washing  them  away  with  blood  from  the  very 
wounds  that  the  son  inflicted !  She  turned  back  to 
the  empty  house  and  came  at  length  to  the  parlor, 
where  the  glazed  bricks  glistened  and  the  broken 
pieces  of  the  crystal  cliirimoya  still  lay  amidst  the 
other  shining  fruit.  She  stood  in  a  dream. 

29 


A    DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

"  He  was  never  thus  by  nature,"  murmured  she, 
pitifully.  "  Oh,  Holy  Mary,  thou  dost  know  it  was 
the  woman  who  did  it !  " 

And  in  that  sweetly  bitter  thought  the  sins  of 
Doroteo  Quiroz  were  wiped  out. 

The  morning  of  the  day  previous  to  that  of  Qui- 
roz's  return  to  Tizapan  a  straggling  fleet  of  some 
twelve  or  fourteen  canoas,  gathered  not  without 
trouble,  went  down  the  river  amidst  the  waste  of 
green  marsh,  and  issued  on  the  lake.  Those  vessels 
contained  the  remainder  of  Don  Rodrigo's  men,  who 
sailed  out  in  high  spirits.  Scarcely  was  there  one 
canoa  from  which  did  not  float  over  the  dancing 
waves  the  tones  of  some  Spanish  love  song,  or  the 
high  and  plaintive  falsetto  of  some  weird  Indian  mel 
ody.  The  steady  breeze  of  an  autumn  day  blew  this 
company  of  sails  ever  toward  the  spot  where,  a  dead 
leaf  in  a  sea,  the  island  lay.  The  long  morning  and 
the  longer  afternoon  passed,  the  fleet  neared  the  rocky 
shore  in  the  early  evening,  and  the  soldiers  saw  the 
prison  walls  standing  gaunt  against  a  sky  of  many 
colors. 

Clarita,  sunk  into  yet  greater  grief,  had  spent  the 
whole  of  the  night  after  the  great  failure  lying  on  the 
ground  outside  the  door  of  the  prison,  wherein  a  se 
curer  cell  had  been  selected  for  the  captive,  and  a 
constant  guard  placed  over  him.  They  would  have 
allowed  her  to  go  in;  in  the  morning  they  besought 
her  to  enter.  She  could  not.  Rodrigo,  nigh  crushed 
by  her  sorrow,  held  aloof;  he  would  not  break  in 
on  her  solitude,  though  she  had  given  herself  to  him. 
The  two,  bound  together  yet  separated,  were  waiting 
for  the  governor's  message,  each  with  fear,  neither 
with  hope. 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  451 

During  the  day  the  wind  changed  gradually  to  the 
southwest,  finally  to  the  west,  so  that  the  approach 
ing  fleet,  having  come  within  a  few  hundred  yards  of 
shore,  could  come  no  further.  It  was  forced  to 
anchor  where  it  was.  The  soldiers  were  thus  com 
pelled  to  remain  in  waiting  canoas  till  morning.  But 
to  one  other  vessel,  a  lonely  vessel  from  another  direc 
tion,  the  change  was  advantageous.  Chapala  lies,  as 
has  been  said,  on  a  cape.  Between  Mescala  and  the 
former  town  the  shore  makes  a  turn,  almost  of  a  right 
angle,  so  that  Chapala  lies  west  of  the  island,  as 
Mescala  lies  north.  The  messengers  returning  with 
the  governor's  reply  perceived,  at  Mescala,  that  the" 
more  usual  southwest  wind  would  likely  prevail  dur 
ing  the  afternoon  and  night.  They  therefore  did  not 
await  the  improbable  north  one.  They  skirted  the 
shore,  leaving  their  canoa,  and  came,  toward  evening, 
to  Chapala.  They  secured  there  another  vessel,  and 
set  sail  for  the  island.  The  wind  changing  and 
coming  at  length  directly  from  the  west,  and,  as 
always,  rising  with  the  night,  the  journey  was  made 
with  good  speed. 

At  nine  o'clock  that  night  Rodrigo,  grown  consid 
erably  calmer  than  he  was  wont  to  be,  his  teeth  shut 
and  a  grim  determination  forcing  him  on,  came  to 
the  prison  doors  where  he  had  last  seen  Clarita.  She 
was  not  there.  The  guards  told  him  she  had  gone 
away.  He  came  again  to  the  church.  He  did  not 
look  at  its  stones,  and  he  kept  out  of  his  mind  by  a 
mighty  effort  the  other  scenes  he  had  been  a  part  of 
in  it.  He  stared  straight  before  him,  and  strode  in. 
She  was  kneeling  again,  a  candle  near  her.  He  came 
to  her  and  spoke,  standing  over  her  and  looking  down. 
She  started  up  and  turned  an  appealing  face  to  him, 
reading  his  expression.  She  had  steeled  herself  for 


452  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

this  moment.  It  was  as  though  she  held  her  every 
nerve  with  a  desperate  grasp.  He  said : 

"  The  message  has  come.  I  will  bear  your  sorrow 
with  you  —  I  must.  You  have  given  yourself  to  me. 
To  hold  aloof  because  I  was  the  unwilling  cause,  this 
will  serve  no  longer.  Clarita,  I  am  come  to  be, 
henceforth,  always,  regardless  of  the  blot  on  me  and 
rising  above  it,  the  help  that  you  need.  I  will  take 
you  away.  I  shall  not  let  this  grief  blast  all  your 
life.  For  him,  there  is  no  hope.  The  governor,  in 
his  weakness  grown  for  once  by  irritation  strong,  will 
not  be  moved.  Come,  oh  my  heart !  you,  this  I 
know,  have  forgiven  me  long  since.  I  may  have 
done  wrong  —  I  do  not  know  —  I  did  the  best  I 
knew.  Will  you  come  now  and  give  me  this  grief  of 
yours,  as  you  gave  me  your  love,  and  let  me,  now 
that  I  can  do  no  more,  bear  it  for  you  ?  " 

She  came  and  bowed  her  head  to  his  breast,  and 
he  held  her. 

"  Go  now,"  said  he  at  last,  "  and  speak  to  him." 

She  went  out,  slowly.  The  gray  rebozo  fell  and 
lay  in  the  ruins.  He  picked  it  up  and  went  out  after 
her,  going  down  to  the  shore  where  he  gave  orders. 
He  called  a  soldier,  handed  him  the  governor's  mes 
sage,  and  turned  over  to  him  his  own  authority.  He 
saw  that  the  canoa  was  ready.  He  returned  and 
waited  at  the  prison  door. 

The  girl,  scarcely  able  to  go,  had  crept  in.  The 
guards  had  let  her  pass  and  she  came  to  his  cell. 
She  turned  bewildered  at  the  door  and  stared  at  the 
cactus  and  the  walls.  She  tried  to  go  in,  but  she  fell 
against  the  ruins  and  stood  there  with  her  face  buried 
on  her  arms.  She  did  not  know  whether  minutes  or 
hours  passed.  At  last  she  turned  and  entered.  Vi 
cente  was  standing  by  the  candle  listening,  as  though 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  453 

he  had  heard  her  silent  footstep.  He  saw  her  appear, 
standing  looking  at  him,  agonized,  her  love  for  him 
going  out  and  drawing  him.  He  sprang  forward  and 
caught  her.  He  drew  her  to  the  light  and  put  back 
her  hair  from  her  face,  at  which  he  stared.  He  read 
her  message.  He  did  not  tremble  or  cry  out.  He 
heaved  a  deep  sigh  and  stroked  her  hair,  and  then 
smiled  at  her. 

"  I  think  you  came  to  tell  me  there  is  no  hope," 
said  he. 

She  shuddered  and  sank  more  deeply  in  his  arms. 

"Look,  Clarita  —  to  me  it  is  not  this  great  grief. 
Then  to  you  it  shall  not  be.  Do  not  weep.  That 
which  God  brings  is  best.  Death  has  not  any  terror 
for  me.  This  have  I  long  seen  coming.  It  was  the 
destiny  prepared  for  me." 

She  clung  to  him,  desperately,  grief  shaking  her 
frame.  She  could  not  look  at  him.  She  could  not 
raise  her  face.  She  could  scarcely  hear  him.  She 
must  hold  him  —  hold  him. 

"  I  cannot  go  !  "  she  cried  in  anguish. 

He  held  her  closer,  pityingly,  being  stronger  now 
than  in  all  his  unusual  course. 

"  You  love  Don  Rodrigo,"  said  he. 

"  He  has  given  up,"  she  said.  "  He  did  all  to  save 
us — he  is  going  away." 

He  looked  at  her  hair,  in  which  the  candle-light 
brought  out  gold.  He  looked  at  her  shaking 
shoulders  and  put  his  gentle  hand  on  them.  He 
drew  her  up  and  kissed  her  many  times. 

"  Then  you,  too,  go,"  said  he.  "  Death  is  nothing ; 
faith  and  love,  these  are  all.  And  you  have  been 
these.  This,  your  life,  will  light  the  way  for  me  to 
the  end.  Go  in  peace  ;  grieve  not.  You  have  done 
all  that  you  could.  Remember  I  met  death  with 


454  A  DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

calmness  and  did  not  complain,  because  your  faith 
had  strengthened  mine." 

She  would  not  go.  She  clung  to  him  with  a  grip 
he  could  not  loose.  After  holding  her  long  he  tried 
to  lead  her  to  the  door.  She  seemed  overwhelmed 
by  the  fear  that  he  would  make  her  leave  him. 

"  I  cannot !  "  cried  she  again,  turning  her  face  up 
to  him.  "  So  long  as  life  lasts  I  shall  stay  with 
you." 

"  Clarita,  you  must  leave  me,  because  I  ask  it. 
This  is  the  last  you  can  do  for  me.  If  these  sad 
times  had  not  come,  and  I,  still  living  with  you,  had 
become  ill  and  then  died  — you  would  not  have  been 
crushed  by  grief  for  that;  you  would  have  trusted 
God  and  gone  on  in  the  world  till  a  better  time. 
Think  of  it  thus  now.  You  will  walk  out  to-night, 
leaving  me  because  I  pray  you  with  my  last  prayers 
to  do  so.  It  will  be  that  you  left  me  already  dead, 
that  I  have  gone  before  you.  You  will  not  think  of 
the  death  and  the  sorrow,  nor  of  me  as  living  here. 
You  will  think  only  of  the  future." 

She  had  ever  obeyed  him  —  his  wish  had  been 
unquestioned  law.  To  do  so  now  was  a  new  struggle. 
She  only  shook  in  his  arms,  unable  to  obey. 

"  I  have  followed  you  always  !  "  she  cried. 

"  Heart  of  faith,"  said  he,  "  this  last  gift  I  pray 
from  you.  You  will  not  refuse  it.  To  stay  would  be 
only  to  blacken  the  end  for  me,  whereas,  remembering 
you  thus  as  having  gone  away  when  I  wished,  there 
will  be  light.  Go  —  in  my  name  and  for  your  love 
of  me.  It  is  not  desertion  of  me.  I  know  you  would 
stay.  It  is  my  will.  This  is  your  last,  your  most 
sacred  duty.  Go." 

When  she  could  realize  it  thus,  she  began  to  yield, 
but  not  till  then.  He  succeeded  at  last  in  getting 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  455 

her  away.  He  gave  no  sign  of  the  pain  of  that  part 
ing,  he  did  not  so  much  as  flinch  at  the  wound. 
She  staggered  out,  held  by  a  guard,  seeing  nothing, 
unable  to  go  alone  —  and  she  left  in  him  a  loneliness 
that  seemed  as  if  it  must  of  itself  bring  death. 

She  was  caught  up  outside  by  Rodrigo,  who  car 
ried  her  to  the  shore  as  though  she  had  been  a  child. 
He  brought  her  into  the  vessel  and  gave  orders  to 
the  sailors.  To  do  nothing  but  grieve  over  those 
events  and  that  end,  to  feel  remorse  and  hate  himself 
—  these  were  not  worthy  of  him.  Let  him  bring  all 
his  emotion,  now  that  he  had  done  what  he  could,  to 
bear  on  caring  for  her.  He  turned  his  back  upon 
the  island  and  the  prison  and  the  past.  He  faced 
the  future  with  her. 

He  had  arranged  a  bed  on  the  boat's  bottom  where 
she  might  pass  the  night.  She  lay  there  all  the 
hours  of  the  journey.  He  stood  over  her,  or  strode 
to  and  fro,  or  scanned  the  horizon  as  the  vessel  sped 
on.  He  rested  not. 

The  island  was  sunk  in  the  past  blackness  and  the 
lake's  northern  shore  came  near.  The  wind  in  the 
early  morning  brought  them  to  Ocotlan. 

She  had  recovered  a  little  and  they  proceeded  on 
horseback  to  Guadalajara,  where  they  were  married. 
Rodrigo  communicated  with  none  of  his  acquaint 
ances,  merely  made  the  arrangements  for  departure. 
They  took  passage  in  one  of  those  great,  old-style 
diligencias  that,  drawn  by  eight  mules,  whirled  them 
away  over  many  stony  roads  to  the  east  and  north. 
The  nights  were  spent  in  inns,  sometimes  at  towns, 
sometimes  in  lonely  places.  They  were  transferred 
to  other  diligencias  and  the  days  were  dusty  and  long. 
But  his  love  sustained  her. 

There  came   a   sunlit   morning  when  the   sluggish 


456  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

waters  of  the  sand-blocked  Rio  Grande  rolled  before 
them.  They  walked  to  the  shore  and  some  rowers 
were  coming  toward  them  in  a  boat.  The  high  bank 
hid  them  and  they  were  alone.  He  put  his  arms 
about  her  and  said : 

"  I  have  found  all  at  last  —  all.  And  for  my  many 
mistakes  you  give  me  yourself  as  reward.  Clarita,  I 
am  going  to  make  you  happy." 

44  You  will,"  she  said;  "a  little  while  longer  and 
you  will !  " 

The  boat  came  and  they  entered  and  were  rowed 
across.  On  the  way  the  sun  came  and  glistened  on 
her  tresses. 

"  I  think  it  was  your  hair,"  said  he,  "  that  won  me 
first  —  and  the  dimples." 

She  looked  at  him  and  smiled  for  the  first  time,  a 
sad  smile.  But  the  dimples  themselves  had  come 
again. 


CHAPTER  XII 

ON  the  afternoon  following  the  departure  of 
Clarita,  a  lazy  canoa  dropped  sail  and  floated 
to  the  sandy  shore  at  Chapala,  poled  by  one  very 
lean  and  tall  man  whose  bare  legs  as  he  strained 
along  the  boat's  sides  seemed  of  immoderate  length, 
and  by  another  man  who  was  shorter  and  who 
grunted  as  he  strained.  The  boat  came  to  anchor 
near  that  portion  of  the  beach  where  the  lime-kilns 
stand  at  the  rear  of  the  church.  The  two  sat  on  the 
side,  then,  and  swung  their  feet  over  the  water. 

The  long  one  made  a  movement  as  though  to 
jump  in  and  proceed  to  shore,  but  grew  of  a  sudden 
so  very  languid  that  he  found  the  movement  could 
not  be  completed.  He  yawned  and  retied  about  his 
waist  a  green  sash  which  separated  the  white  blouse 
of  his  shirt  from  the  white  rolls  of  his  trousers.  He 
leaned  against  the  thatch  and  let  his  eyes  wander 
over  the  town  and  the  sides  of  St.  Michael.  The 
other  sat  beside  him,  held  a  sandal  up,  and  stared 
vacantly  at  it  as  though  it  needed  something  but  he 
had  forgotten  what  it  was  that  it  needed.  He  too 
yawned.  The  color  of  his  sash  was  magenta.  The 
two  then  sighed  in  harmony  and,  removing  the  two 
high-peaked  sombreros,  let  the  breeze  fan  their  faces. 
Apparently  the  idea  of  disembarking  must  be  given 
time  to  gain  ground.  There  was  a  great  bulk  sitting 
yonder  on  the  sand  with  its  back  to  a  hut.  It  did 


458  A    DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

not  move.  Anastasio's  eyes  had  slowly  taken  in  the 
place  of  his  nativity. 

"  The  church  towers  are  still  the  same,"  said  An- 
astasio  with  sentiment,  moving  the  large  toe  of  the 
left  foot  slowly  back  and  forth. 

The  other  assented  only  with  silence. 

"  I  see  the  salati  is  not  changed,"  observed  Fran 
cisco  after  some  minutes  of  the  silence. 

"  The  old  place  is  doubtless  lonesome,"  said  Anas- 
tasio. 

"  Run  down,"  agreed  Francisco. 

They  deemed  it  unnecessary  to  proceed  further 
with  this  line  of  thought.  Later,  when  the  languor 
seemed  really  to  approach  exhaustion,  Anastasio  felt 
in  his  bosom  and  drew  out  a  rag,  which,  being  slowly 
untied,  displayed  three  copper  cents.  Anastasio 
appeared  bored  by  the  sight.  He  put  the  rag  and 
its  contents  back  in  his  shirt.  He  perceived  Fran 
cisco,  after  some  time,  removing  a  rag  likewise,  and 
opening  it.  There  were  not  any  cents  at  all  in 
Francisco's  rag.  This  sight  seemed  extremely 
fatiguing  to  both. 

"  Francisco,"  began  Anastasio,  having  looked  long 
and  dreamily  into  the  water. 

"  Si"  said  Francisco. 

"  There  was  something  wrong  with  the  spoils." 

"  It  was  in  the  book,"  said  Francisco  in  irritation. 
"If what's  in  a  book  isn't  true,  then,"  and  he  gave 
a  large  gesture  with  his  hand  as  defying  anybody  to 
answer  so  masterful  an  argument,  "  what  in  the 
devil  is?" 

"  Is  everything  in  books  true?  "  queried  Anastasio. 

"  Why,"  cried  Francisco,  some  of  his  old  excite 
ment  reappearing,  "what  else  would  it  be  there 
for?" 


A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE  459 

This  proved  unanswerable  and  Anastasio  sank  into 
apathy,  merely  observing : 

"  Anyhow,  there  was  something  wrong  with  the 
spoils." 

"It  was  Fortino,"  said  Francisco.  "Fortino  did  n't 
know  much  history,  nor  did  he  concentrate.  The 
secret  of  history  is  concentration.  Fortino  scattered 
himself — I  mean  his  mind.  So  the  strategy  got  him." 

This  not  seeming  particularly  lucid,  Anastasio  let 
it  pass.  He  observed  presently,  however : 

"  It  looks  to  me  that  he  concentrated  too  much. 
He  concentrated  the  whole  army.  This  is  called 
good  strategy." 

"  But  I  tell  you,  fool,"  cried  Francisco,  "  that  it  is 
the  mind.  The  mind  rules  wars  !  " 

"  Pues,  bien  ;  let  it  go.  Is  your  rag  entirely  empty, 
brother?  " 

Francisco  spread  it  out  flat. 

"  Si"  said  Anastasio,  "  there  is  nothing  in  it  but 
your  honor.  Wrap  it  up,  wrap  it  up  ;  you  rode  hard 
for  it.  Come,  you  and  your  honor,  you  may  live 
with  me  on  my  three  coppers." 

"  Till  the  fish  are  drawn,"  assented  Francisco. 

"  Si,"  said  Anastasio,  "  we  will  return  to  them. 
The  fish  are  more  lucrative." 

The  great  bulk  yonder  on  the  sand  moved  a  little 
sluggishly,  in  the  sun,  and  his  sombrero  fell  lower 
over  his  unseen  face. 

"  Poor  brother  Fortino,"  muttered  Anastasio  to 
himself. 

"  Si"  said  the  other,  " he  failed  to  concentrate." 

The  afternoon  advanced  almost  in  silence.  The 
small  waves  beat  up  murmuringly  on  the  yellow 
sand.  The  town  slept  on  in  its  primitive  peace.  The 
serried  line  of  mountains  cut  their  eternal  jagged  line 


460  A   DREAM   OF  A    THRONE 

against  the  sky's  blue.  A  dove  in  the  old  salati  sent 
her  mourning  notes  out  over  beach  and  water  and 
the  song  seemed  the  voice  of  nature.  St.  Michael 
lifted  his  mass  out  of  the  town's  very  centre,  and 
cactus  and  shrubs  half  hid  his  rocky  sternness.  There 
was  no  sign,  no  thought  of  war.  The  place  was  almost 
as  it  had  been  three  hundred  years  ago. 

The  light  on  the  eastern  waters  was  suddenly  in 
tensified.  The  languid  eye  of  Anastasio  and  the 
alerter  one  of  his  companion  perceived  a  dozen  sails 
or  more,  reflecting  the  sun's  rays,  glistening,  daz 
zling,  glide  one  by  one  round  the  point  of  the  cape 
from  the  east.  The  unwonted  sight  moved  Anas 
tasio  to  curiosity,  Francisco  to  wonder.  The  bulk 
by  the  wall  of  the  hut  arose  and  stalked  slowly, 
sombre,  to  and  fro,  its  eyes  fastened  on  the  ground. 
The  fleet  aroused  the  town,  and  men  and  women  in 
crowds  appeared  running  from  the  streets  to  the 
beach.  Brilliant  blankets  and  fluttering  rebozos 
crowded  the  water's  edge.  But  there  was  no  laugh 
ing,  no  noise.  There  was  only  awe. 

The  purpose  of  this  sudden  arrival  began  to  be 
whispered  about.  Already  the  deed  had  been  an 
ticipated.  Francisco  leaped  to  the  water,  his  brown, 
dripping  legs  flashed  through  it,  and  he  ran  along 
the  beach  to  the  largest  crowd.  Anastasio  still  re 
clined  against  the  thatch.  The  last  of  the  sails  came 
round  the  cape.  The  first  vessel,  the  second,  the 
third,  anchored  at  the  beach.  The  sails  one  by  one 
fell  and  were  furled  to  masts.  The  great  Fortino 
strode  yet,  slowly,  ponderously,  to  and  fro  before  the 
hut  like  one  in  whom  restlessness  gnaws  the  vitals. 
The  townspeople  still  came  running.  The  first  canoa 
discharged  its  freight  of  soldiers.  The  second,  too, 
gave  forth  its  line  of  men.  The  third  and  the  fourth 


A   DREAM    OF  A    THRONE  461 

did  likewise.  The  soldiers  drew  up  in  order  on  the 
beach,  the  evening  sun  casting  their  shadows  long 
across  the  sand.  Fortino  still  strode  yonder.  A 
lion,  the  fierce  life  crushed  in  him,  strides  thus  to 
and  fro  in  his  cage. 

Only  the  last  sail  glistened  on  the  lake's  breast. 
It  too  fell  and  was  furled.  The  ship  under  it  floated 
to  the  beach  and  the  guard  landed.  There  was  a 
double  line  of  soldiers  forming  an  alley,  waiting  for 
its  chief  occupant.  The  crowd  held  a  little  aloof. 
Vicente  came  out  and  stood  on  the  beach.  He  was 
straight  and  fearless,  but  the  sorrow  in  his  eyes 
struck  deep  into  every  heart.  The  soldiers  marched, 
he  in  their  midst,  into  the  main  street  and  through 
the  plaza,  and  the  crowd,  straggling,  followed  him. 

Fortino  strode  yet  upon  the  shore.  His  face  was 
dark.  His  hands  were  clenched.  His  eyes  were  the 
eyes  of  despair.  He  would  not  look  up.  He  would 
not  leave  his  beaten  track. 

Anastasio,  having  at  length  come  to  land,  walked 
slowly,  hesitatingly,  to  the  giant.  The  latter's  back 
was  toward  him. 

"  Brother,"  said  Anastasio. 

Fortino  turned  and  cast  his  dull  eyes  on  him. 

"Brother,  ''  said  Anastasio  with  odd  kindness, 
"  you  will  still  share  the  fish  with  us  —  no  ?  " 

The  old  red  gleam  appeared  for  an  instant  in 
Fortino's  eyes. 

"The  fish  — the  fish,"  muttered  he.  "Si—  oh 
my  God !  We  will  share  the  fish.  Fortino  shall 
draw  the  net  till  his  last  day  come  and  his  sun  set 
forever.  Pitiable  is  he  that  he  ever  left.  I  will  draw 
fish,  and  to  him  that  buys  of  them  let  wretchedness 
come.  My  food  shall  be  ashes  in  my  mouth.  Let 
the  air  round  about  me  choke  him  who  breathes  it  — 


462  A    DREAM    OF  A    THRONE 

let  the  waters  where  I  row  turn  to  blood  behind  me. 
Si —  fish  — fish  —  this  is  all.  But  I  shall  not  fish  up 
that  which  is  sunk  forever.  And  let  that  which  I 
draw,  henceforth,  wherever  it  be  sold,  or  wherever  it 
be  eaten,  turn  to  poison." 

He    stalked    away    toward    the    hut,    Anastasio 
following. 

"No,"  muttered  Anastasio  after  him;  "  this  is  not 
thus.  Fortino,  when  I  taunted  you  in  Tizapan  — 
this  was  an  ill  thing  to  do." 

Fortino  went  on  unhearing. 

"  An  exceedingly  ill  thing,  Fortino,"  said  the  long 
Anastasio,  plaintively. 

Fortino  went  into  the  hut  and  lay  down  on  the 
floor.  Anastasio  remained  outside  and  presently 
said,  the  sound  penetrating  the  walls  of  reeds: 

"  They  will  not  be  ashes  or  poison.  Fortino,  to 
your  brethren,  the  fish  will  still  taste  like  fish." 

Fortino  heard  not.  He  lay  there  for  hours.  He 
did  not  stir  even  when  many  weapons  were  simultane 
ously  discharged  at  a  distance.  After  long  days  he 
was,  in  the  matter  of  deeds,  like  the  old  Fortino ;  but 
never  so  in  manner  or  in  heart.  He  was  silent, 
morose,  till  his  death.  He  never  left  the  lake.  He 
fished  and  ate  and  slept,  and  fished  again,  buried 
here  ;  a  man  of  great  faith  in  a  world  that  needs  faith  ; 
a  man  of  honesty  that,  like  a  rock  that  holds  at  bay  the 
sea,  no  force  under  the  sun  of  heaven  could  have  moved 
one  jot  —  in  a  world  where  honesty  is  all  too  rare; 
a  man,  not  without  genius  and  the  spirit  of  creation 
(though  dulled  somewhat  by  ancestry  and  his  time) 
—  in  a  world  where  men  devoid  of  both  rule  millions ; 
a  man  of  no  selfishness —  in  a  world  that,  ridden  by 
selfishness,  calls  most  anguish-stricken  for  that  very 
quality  which  he  had. 


A   DREAM   OF  A    THRONE  463 

The  march  of  soldiers  through  the  plaza  had  been 
prolonged  beyond  the  plaza.  It  came  to  the  narrow, 
rocky  street  that  leads  up  St.  Michael.  They  had 
taken  the  condemned  one  through  the  town's  middle. 
He  was  not  crushed  by  coming  death ;  he  thought 
little  of  it,  feared  it  not.  He  thought  most  constantly 
of  Clarita,  thanking  his  God  that  he  had  been  able  to 
prevail  upon  her  to  go.  At  least  she,  whom  his  soul 
loved,  was  away  from  this.  It  was  said  of  him  about 
the  town  that  never  was  there  seen  in  its  poor  streets 
a  face  so  beautiful  as  his. 

They  led  him  straight  up  the  steep  and  rugged  hill, 
the  crowd  remaining  at  its  bottom.  The  example 
would  be  held  high,  in  sight  of  all  the  world,  that 
revolutions  might  be  no  more.  The  climb  was  diffi 
cult  and  wearying.  But  he  never  halted  or  seemed 
fatigued.  It  was  rather  that  he  led  them  than  that  they 
led  him.  He  was  among  the  first,  even  the  first.  He 
went  up  steadily,  strongly,  his  eyes  raised.  Cactus  and 
boulder  and  shrub  he  saw  not.  He  seemed  to  run  to 
meet  death,  so  that  the  soldiers  scarcely  could  follow. 
They  emerged  at  last  on  the  summit.  He  was  already 
there.  He  stood  on  the  highest  rock  and  swept  that 
incomparable  scene  with  his  eyes  —  Chapala  under 
him,  its  red-tiled  roofs  lit  by  the  setting  sun ;  the  cape 
and  the  lake's  vast  sweep  beyond ;  the  island  lying 
small  and  black  in  the  water's  middle ;  all  the  great 
bosom  of  that  inland  sea  casting  up  light  to  him ; 
Tizapan  invisible;  blue  mountains  rising  in  the 
eternal  circle. 

It  was  then  that  his  last  sorrow  fell  like  a  curtain  on 
him.  He  gazed  at  the  sands  of  the  beach  and  the 
row  of  tiny  huts  along  it.  He  had  lived  there  in  his 
only  happy  time.  Before  all  this  wild  dream  he 
had  been  full  of  life  there ;  he  had  had  her,  too,  and 


464  A   DREAM  OF  A    THRONE 

the  love  of  her;  and  there  where  the  sun  fell  yellowest 
he  had  played  with  her  in  the  long  evenings  or  on 
moonlit  nights,  in  the  sand.  It  swept  over  him 
that  there  was  the  Eden  from  which  some  stern  power 
had  driven  them  out.  He  passed  his  hand  over  his 
eyes  and  was  heard  to  say : 

"That  I  might  turn  —  that  I  might  retrace  these 
steps  and  go  back  —  my  God  !  my  God  !  then  might 
I  find  the  cherubim  and  the  flaming  sword  that 
turneth  every  way,  and  know  at  last  where  is  the  tree 
of  life." 

They  let  him  stand  where  he  was,  and,  the  arrange 
ments  made  and  the  word  given,  he  was  shot.  It  is 
the  beautiful  custom  of  the  country  to  erect  crosses 
at  places  of  blood.  On  St.  Michael's  stony  head  one 
may  still  see  the  cross  which  marks  the  spot  where 
he  fell. 


A  New  Romance  by  the  Author  of 
"  The  Shadow  of  the  Czar  " 


THE  VIKING'S  SKULL 


By  JOHN   R.   CARLING 

Illustrated  by  Cyrus  Cuneo.     350  pages.     12mo.     $1.50. 

MR.  CARLING  has  written  a  modern  story,  full  of 
mystery,  weird  and  exciting,  with  a  plot  which 
defies  solution  until  the  final  chapter.  It  is  a  romance, 
pure  and  simple,  in  which  the  unexpected  always 
transpires. 

There  are  three  scenes  of  great  interest  and  strength,  — 
the  tragedy  in  the  prologue ;  the  opening  of  the  tomb 
containing  the  treasure ;  and  a  dramatic  performance1  at 
Favenhall,  the  home  of  the  noble  house  of  Ormsby,  where 
Lorelie,  the  heroine,  denounces  the  spurious  Earl. 

These  and  many  other  scenes  and  incidents  are  rendered 
with  singular  power,  and  the  whole  story  is  exceptionally 
strong,  dramatic,  vivid,  and  interest-compelling.  It  is  a 
worthy  successor  to  the  author's  remarkable  and  success 
ful  novel,  "The  Shadow  of  the  Czar." 


LITTLE,   BROWN,  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS,  BOSTON 
At  all  Booksellers 


A   Stirring  Tale  of  the   Plains 


THE     RAINBOW 
CHASERS 


By  JOHN   H.   WHITSON 
Author  of  ••  Barbara,  A  Woman  of  the  West " 

FULL    of  the  atmosphere   of  the  West,  with  Dick 
Brewster,  alias  Jackson  Blake,  cowboy,  land  specu 
lator,  and  lover,  for  its  hero,  Mr.  Whitson's  new  novel, 
without  being  in  the  least  a  copy,  has  many  of  the  attrac 
tions  of  Mr.  Wister's  hero,  "  The  Virginian." 

"The  Rainbow  Chasers"  is  a  virile  American  novel 
with  its  principal  scenes  laid  in  Western  Kansas  during 
the  land  boom  of  '86.  The  male  characters  are  vigorous 
men,  with  red  blood  in  their  veins ;  and  the  heroine,  Elinor 
Spencer,  is  a  high-spirited  but  lovable  Western  girl. 

The  Brooklyn  Eagle  says  :  — 

"  It  is  a  picturesque  narrative,  striking  in  its  portrayal 
of  conditions  that  have  vanished.  It  is  one  of  those  works 
of  fiction  which,  like  '  The  Virginian, '  deserve  to  rank  as 
books  of  social  and  economic  history,  because  of  the  pic 
turing  of  conditions,  vital  while  they  existed,  that  have 
passed  away." 

With  6  illustrations  by  Arthur  E.  Becher.     393  pages. 
12rao.     Decorated  cloth,  $1.50. 


LITTLE,    BROWN,  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS,  BOSTON 
At  all  Booksellers 


TJie  Story  of  a  Mans  Triumph  over  the  Flesh 


THE    WOOD-CARVER 
OF  'LYMPUS 


By  M.  E.  WALLER 

Author  of  "  A  Daughter  of  the  Rich,"  "  The 
Little  Citizen, "etc. 

With  frontispiece.     12mo.     311  pages.     $1.50. 

THE  hero  of  Miss  Waller's  new  story  is  one  of  the 
strongest  and  most  original  characters  portrayed  in 
recent  fiction.     Hugh  Armstrong,  used  to  a  busy  out- 
of-door  life,  in  felling  a  tree  meets  with  an  accident  and 
loses  the  use  of  his  limbs.     At  first  he  finds  it  impossible 
to  adjust  himself  to  his  shut-in  life,  but  a  friend  suggests 
wood-carving  to  him. 

Through  work  and  love  a  great  change  comes  over  him, 
and  the  author  has  portrayed  to  us  in  a  powerful  manner 
Armstrong's  salvation.  The  scenes  are  laid  in  the  Green 
Mountains  of  Vermont.  The  reader  will  follow  the  various 
love  affairs  with  increasing  interest.  The  atmosphere  of 
the  book  is  bright  and  cheerful,  and  the  whole  story  is  out 
of  the  usual  run  of  fiction. 

C.  C.  Emerson  has  drawn  a  capital  frontispiece  illustra 
tion,  representing  "  The  Old  Vermont  Stage  Coach." 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  tf  CO.,  PUBLISHERS,  BOSTON 
At  all  Booksellers 


A   Story  oj    London    Lift' 


ANNA 
THE    ADVENTURESS 


By  E.  PHILLIPS  OPPENHEIM 

Author  of  "  A  Prince  of  Sinners,"  etc. 

Illustrated.     320  pages.     12mo.     $1.50. 

IN  his  new  story  of  London  life  Mr.  Oppenheim  takes 
for  heroines  two  sisters,  Anna  and  Annabel,  who  look 
almost  exactly  alike.  Annabel  "got  herself  talked 
about"  when  the  sisters  were  living  in  Paris,  and  then 
calmly  married  Sir  John  Ferringhall,  a  prospective  M.  P., 
although  that  astute  Britisher  thought  he  was  marrying 
Anna.  The  complications  that  follow  would  test  the  skill 
and  ingenuity  of  any  novelist. 

The  subtle  study  of  character,  as  shown  in  the  two 
sisters,  is  masterly.  The  subordinate  characters,  Sir  John 
Ferringhall,  David  Courtlaw,  and  others,  are  delineated 
with  almost  as  much  ability.  But  it  is  for  his  power  of 
telling  a  story  that  Mr.  Oppenheim  first  made  a  name,  and 
in  none  of  his  novels  is  this  power  more  manifest.  From 
beginning  to  end  it  goes  on  increasing  in  interest  as  it 
progresses,  and  sparkles  with  brilliant  conversation  and 
unusual  situations.  It  cannot  fail  to  add  greatly  to  Mr. 
Oppenheim's  reputation. 

The  book  contains  sixteen  illustrations,  including  a 
poster  frontispiece  of  "Anna." 


LITTLE,   BROWN,  fcf   CO.,  PUBLISHERS,  BOSTON 
At  all  Booksellers 


I  U 


